


A Rhapsody, Bathed In Blue

by Hypatian



Category: Dress Up! Time Princess (Video Game)
Genre: 1920’s, F/M, Multiple Pov, The Long Con, lots of smoking, mafia, speakeasy, third person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26553982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatian/pseuds/Hypatian
Summary: Elizabeth Colvin was probably the worst person in the world to infiltrate a mafia family, but here they were.
Relationships: Elizabeth Colvin/Vittorio Puzo, Nino Ricci/Meatballs
Comments: 103
Kudos: 307





	1. Through The Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No spoilers past 3-18
> 
> There is a suggested playlist for this chapter, or just a suggested song, really. She’s singing “Koop Island Blues” by Koop. Enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made the decision to set this story in the 1920’s, although I find the exact dating of the story unclear. But it’s a dress up app so...

Nino shifted in his seat. He had been to the Sparrow Room many times before but something about tonight had him on edge. The room around them was its usual level of barely lit darkness and there were enough shadows to hide every gangster in the tri-state area, which was honestly probably the case. The air was thick with smoke and too warm for comfort. Normally none of this would have bothered him- speakeasys were always like this and often far worse- but tonight there was a persistent tickle of nerves on the back of his neck that wouldn’t let him relax.

“It’s just a little play acting today,” Vito had assured him before they left for the evening, “we go in, we make eyes, we leave.”

It wasn’t so much that Nino had a problem with tonight’s plan; feigning interest in a dame to make some guy jealous was baby stuff. No, his problem was with, well, literally everything else. See, Nino didn’t like long cons and the one Vito, his boss, had worked up was a doozy. Nino preferred his jobs short and sweet. In and out. Bada-bing, bada-boom. That way, there was less room for things to go wrong. A long con was always detailed and involved and intricate and if _one thing_ went sideways the whole organization could crash and burn. It was very possible to be too clever.

It wasn’t that Nino thought Vito was incapable. No, Vito had been a great boss even before he had ever been one. They’d grown up together, running small time stuff on the streets of Manhattan while they still had some of their baby teeth. He would have followed Vito to Hell and back if he’d asked. There wasn’t a corner that Vittorio Puzo couldn’t talk, bribe, or punch his way out of.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t honestly believe that Francesco Juliano needed to be taken out. The things he’d heard about him could make you shudder. Nino had grown up with Francesco, too, and he knew the man well enough to figure that most of those rumors were probably true. No, he needed to die, but the Juliano crime family was wary and careful and distrustful of anyone except their own tight little circle. They needed a way in, a foot in the door, and Juliano had a weakness for dames.

The _problem_ was that if you wanted to attract a lion, you sent in a lioness. You did not send a little bunny rabbit. Elizabeth Colvin, the girl they had come to watch tonight, was no lioness. She was probably, if such things can be measured, the worst imaginable person to infiltrate the most powerful and ruthless family in New York: a young, inexperienced rookie reporter from the middle of nowhere Kentucky with a lot of strong ideas about truth and justice. She wasn’t even _Italian_ , let alone Sicilian. Nino, who hadn’t been to so much as a Christmas mass in three years, had the sudden urge to cross himself.

Resisting the urge, he instead checked for the third time to make sure the exits he remembered where still clear if they needed to make a quick getaway. It wasn’t a big club but there were exits enough. Two either side of the small stage and two towards the back. Dead center in the room was the kingpin himself, guffawing and laughing it up in (hopefully) complete ignorance of the fact that more than a few people here were actively moving pieces to inch towards his demise. They were three tables away from him but still very close in the packed space. They could see him and he could see them if he cared to. Obvious but not too obvious. Everything was arranged just so and it made Nino’s skin crawl.

“Is this thing going to start soon or what? I’m telling you, I can’t watch broads kicking in a line no more,” he complained and took a large swallow from of the bourbon in front of him. They’d been there for at least two hours watching number after number waiting for Miss Colvin to come on. Nino didn’t like the Sparrow Room in the first place; even by underworld standards this place was seedy. He knew most of these girls didn’t have much by way of a choice when it came to working here and he preferred un-coerced smiles from the girls serving his drinks. The boss would never come here at all if it weren’t for the fact that this was Juliano’s place and Juliano took no-shows as a personal affront. Their visits had been just barely frequent enough to keep the big man off their backs- until this business with the reporter started, anyway. They’d been here eight times in two weeks- nine counting today. Even wasting time in a seedy club wouldn’t have been too bad except that Nino knew that the big number wouldn’t be any good but they’d all have to act enthralled regardless. Elizabeth had been tripping her way through the chorus lines all week. She just wasn’t a showgirl. She was pretty, sure, but real showgirls didn’t need mafiosos to provide them with flirting tutorials. Reporters weren’t dancers and dancers weren’t reporters. These were simply the facts and Nino was not enjoying himself.

“Shh,” Vito murmured, tapping the ash from his cigarette into a tray. Vito didn’t mind waiting, he never had. The man could sit for hours. It was probably the one thing about his friend that drove Nino the most crazy, no matter how many times it had ultimately been responsible for saving their necks.

Nino grumbled. There was something between Vito and this reporter, he was sure of it. He only hoped that this attraction wasn’t leading the boss to believe she was capable of more than she actually was. Pushing the thought aside, Nino took another sip of his bourbon. It wasn’t particularly good. Ever since prohibition the good stuff was hard to come by, even for rum runners like themselves. Still, he could be fairly sure that whatever they had been served was probably better than whatever swill they gave to most of the other bums in the joint.

All at once, every light in the club went out; only the glow of cigars and cigarettes could be seen. A buzz of hushed anticipation swept through the room. Nino rolled his eyes. This was going to be dramatic.

A single clarinet began to play, and a silky, slinky sort of melody cut through the buzz. After a few notes a blue spotlight appeared over the stage, illuminating a lone woman, resplendent in shimmering white. She was dripping with what were definitely fake diamonds, but the flood of a stage lights had a way of suspending disbelief. She stood with her back to the audience and one hand on her hip and the other raised above her head. As the clarinet played a few more sleepy notes, she rolled her shoulders, once, twice, and slowly lowered the raised arm. All around her the tobacco smoke swirled, catching the light just right, and creating a very strange, almost otherworldly effect. Nino leaned forward, squinting through the haze. A drum joined in with a quick but soft tapping rhythm that the woman echoed with a subtle shaking of her hips. Nino had dreams that started this way.

_“Hello, my love,_

_It’s getting cold on this island,”_

A thin, breathy voice sang out from the figure and she turned to face the audience.

“Holy shit,” Nino spluttered. There was no way in hell- but it was! There on stage was their own personal mole, Elizabeth Colvin. She drew her arms slowly around herself and then ran her hands down her figure, emphasizing every curve and swell as she sang. 

_“I’m sat alone,_

_I’m so sad on my own.”_

Not two days before he had had to haul that girl to the boss’s house because she didn’t know how to get close to Juliano! She had actually balked at the idea of practicing flirting in front of other people! He had to beg his cousin, Alicia, had to promise to take her and her friends to the new Rudolph Valentino picture _and_ pay for their drinks and popcorn, just to help them out and give the kid a few pointers! He’d always known Alicia was a pretty smooth operator but, _Jesus_ , what had she done? Did they make pills now that could turn you into Greta Garbo?

Elizabeth- Lisa, whatever they were calling her now- had started to move around the stage now. She wasn’t exactly _dancing_ , at least not in any way he’d ever seen a showgirl dance before. She slinked across the space, followed by the spotlight, the beads on her long white gown shimmering as she went. Her movements were slow and almost lazy, but heavy with seductive charm. It reminded him of the way some women would look up at you through their eyelashes when they wanted you to kiss them.

_“We said goodbye,_

_With a smile on our faces,”_

Neither was she exactly _singing_ , at least not in the high-pitched and peppy way that was in vogue. She didn’t have a trained voice and her words were more like breaths than anything else but there was a intimacy to it that crept through the audience and made the hair on the backs of necks stand on end.

Two days ago she’d been this shrinking violet! She’d always been pretty, that had to be admitted, but Nino had always felt it was a prudish kind of prettiness. Nino preferred the loud, voluptuous sort- or so he had thought. It occurred to him this, none of this- the singing, the dancing, the dame- none of it should be working on stage. But whatever this was, it was good. _Really_ good. Goddamn. How had the boss known..?

Vito was leaned forward, too, eyes wide and staring at the stage. Completely transfixed, his cigarette hung limply from his lips. Clearly, this was not what Vito was expecting either and that made Nino feel a little better. Vito noticed, after a moment, that Nino was watching him and this briefly snapped him out of his trance. He sat back in his seat, cleared his throat and put his cigarette out in the ashtray. However, this cessation only lasted until he looked back at the stage and Nino could actually see the haze descend over Vito’s eyes.

_“Now, you’re alone,_

_You’re so sad on your own,”_

Elizabeth was at the front of the stage now and pretty close to their table. Her arms were extending over her head, sliding through her newly platinum silver blonde bobbed hair, in their reach upwards. Her hips had adopted the shuffling beat of the drums. There were more curves to her body than her usual clothing ever suggested.

Maybe this plan would work after all. How could Juliano _not_ want to cozy up to this siren? Looking back, Nino saw Juliano staring intensely at the stage. It had never occurred to Nino that “greed” could be an expression, but there was no other way to describe the look on Juliano’s face.

Every eye was fixed on her. No one was aware of the drink in their hand or the date sitting next to them. Elizabeth had the whole place wrapped so tightly around her little finger that she might as well have been the only person there. Nino couldn’t help but notice, however, that for the past several seconds Elizabeth‘s _own_ eyes were focused on Vito and he was hardly looking away. He was leaning forward again and gazing straight back and the expression on his face was one Nino had never seen there before.

Nino peaked over his shoulder again. Juliano had noticed the connection, too. Oh, Juliano had _definitely_ noticed. Despite working together from time to time out of necessity, Juliano and Vito had loathed each other for decades. Juliano was and had always been selfish, temperamental, and rash. He was the kind of kid who was always trying to get a rise out of others. He liked to provoke an outburst and then use it as an excuse to beat the ever-loving shit out of you. He’d never managed to get anything out of Vito, though, and that got under his skin in a big way. Honestly, it was impressive that Vito was still alive.

Juliano’s eyes were flashing back and forth between Elizabeth, bathed in blue light on stage, and Vito at his table, slowly putting two and two together. He puffed away moodily on a cigar and slammed a fist down on the table. The sudden, jarring noise made the room jump and Elizabeth’s eyes broke away from Vito to look at Juliano but it didn’t break her stride and her spell quickly regained its hold on the audience. Her painted lips curled into a smile and she turned, beginning to silkily move down the few steps from the stage to the floor of the club. She glided from table to table, the spotlight following her all the while, sometimes stopping to wink at a customer, sometimes coyly taking a sip from someone’s drink, but it wasn’t long before she had moved around to the table where Vito and Nino were sitting. She circled the table, Vito once again in her sights, until she was behind him.

_“Now I’m looking for you,_

_Or anyone like you”_

Coolly, softly, slowly, she ran a hand along his shoulders as she moved around next to him. He leaned back into her touch and in the next moment she was sitting in his lap. Her fingers traced his jawline, inviting his face closer to hers. Vito brought a hand to rest gingerly on her knee. Their faces weren’t more than an inch apart. Nino’s breath caught in his throat. A kiss in front of Juliano was not a good idea; they wanted to make him jealous, not homicidal, and that was how he looked now. Juliano’s face was beet red and the end of his stogie glowed hotly as he sucked in through it furiously.

Before their lips could meet, however, Elizabeth lightly jumped up and moved away, her body swaying to the music still being played by the band, just as though the last few seconds had never happened. Juliano loudly- too loudly- laughed at his table, delighted at the trick. Elizabeth continued to wind her way through the room, working her way toward Juliano’s table. Vito sat shellshocked for a moment before he turned his head to follow her with his eyes, his composure somewhat recovered. Nino finally exhaled.

_“Hello, my love,_

_It’s getting cold on this island,”_

Elizabeth danced her way behind Juliano and placed both her hands on his shoulders before sliding them forward down his chest, lowering herself until her head was next to his. Juliano grinned smugly and couldn’t help but check to make sure Vito watching this. Vito, of course, _was_ watching, but his face had gone resolutely blank. Elizabeth drew her arms into a loose embrace of his chest and then lightly plucked the cigar from his lips. She moved around to sit on the table in front of him, put the cigar to her lips and inhaled deeply. She leaned her head back, her long white neck exposed fulled and exhaled. Smoke billowed and swirled as she placed the cigar back in Juliano’s mouth. Though he reached out for her, she sauntered away back towards the stage, dancing up the stairs as the song drew to its close

* * *

Two days before, Nino had driven her home after her lesson in flirtation. She’d looked quiet, thoughtful, even troubled during the drive.

“Are you sure you want to be doing this, Miss Colvin?”

She didn’t answer immediately, staring out the window at the light rain that had begun to fall. He wasn’t sure she had heard him until she answered.

“Yes... yes, I’m sure,” she said, but the hesitation was still clear in her voice.

“It’s not too late to pull you out, you know. You’re not in too deep. Not yet,” he offered. He was trying to sound nice, but it wasn’t really him asking. Before they’d left, Vito had pulled him aside.

_“Make sure she really wants this. Make absolutely sure.”_

There was something between the two of them, that much was clear. Was Vito afraid she was too enthralled with him to say no to his face?

“You know he puts kids in his brothels?” Her voice was quiet but there was anger behind it. Nino didn’t reply but his hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. _Jesus_. He’d heard rumors... maybe _all_ of them were true.

“People like him... they just... they just get away with it, don’t they? They get away and they keep on doing it. Someone has to- someone has to-“ She stopped mid-sentence and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. They drove on in silence for a few minutes longer. It looked like she was wrestling with whether or not she should divulge something. Nino had seen that expression before. She just needed a willing ear.

He pulled the car over and parked it on the side of the street. Reaching into the inside breast pocket of his coat he pulled out a silver cigarette box. He popped it open and offered it to her.

“I’m not a smoker,” Elizabeth demurred.

“You’re not a showgirl, either.” Nino said with a shrug but didn’t pull the box away. After a moment, she reached over and took a cigarette. Nino lit hers and then one for himself. They rolled down the windows and sat there, listening to the light patter of rain.

“You know that he’ll kill you, kill all of us, if he finds out?” He was pressing her now, but his voice was soft.

Elizabeth took a long drag off the cigarette and coughed a little.

“What he’s doing is wrong...” he continued, “but they’re not your kids. You’re not one of us. You have to be _sure_.”

“I know how it looks,” she replied, her face contemplative, “I am new to the city, but to this?” She waved her hand lightly around her. “I’m not so sure I’m new to this.”

He waited for her to go on and after a moment she obliged.

“You and Mr. Puzo grew up together, right?” She asked.

Nino nodded.

“You can tell. You can always tell people who grew up together. There’s a closeness, a familiarity, an easiness you can’t fake. Growing up I had a friend named Lucy. She lived right next door to us and we were always, I mean _always_ , together. Inseparable. Peas in a pod” Elizabeth paused to tap the ashy end of her cigarette out the window. “She disappeared when we were twelve. They never found a body, never heard a whisper, she was just _gone_... It destroyed her family. Her father killed himself and last I saw of her mother they were driving her off to a sanitarium probably not too different from the hospital where this all started.”

Elizabeth snubbed out the butt of her cigarette in the ashtray between the seats.

“I’m not saying it was the Juliano family. I’m not saying it was connected at all... but there was never anything I could do to help Lucy or her parents. Not a damn thing. But now? Now there _is_ , and I _am_ going to do something. I don’t have the documents to prove what is happening down there, but I know it’s bad. I also know it’s not the only pie Juliano’s got his fingers in. He has to be stopped. I tried the newspapers but whoever is protecting him stopped me at every turn. The police are in their pocket, too. No... I think Mr. Puzo- Vittorio- might be the only person who can, who _will,_ take him on. So I’m going to work with him and if that means becoming the most irresistible showgirl New York has ever seen? Then that’s what I’m going to do. So, yes, Mr. Ricci, I’m sure,” Elizabeth finished, folding her hands primly on her lap.

“Fair enough,” Nino said with a grin. He started the car and drove off.

* * *

_“And now you’re looking for me,_

_Or anyone like.”_

Reaching the middle of the stage, Elizabeth turned her back to the audience with a shimmy and struck a pose as the last notes of the song called out and the spotlight shut off. The room erupted in cheers and hollering and whistles, begging for more, screaming for the light to turn back on.

Nino cheered and yelled with the rest of them but then slumped back down in his seat. This was going to be a long, bumpy ride.


	2. A Big Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains spoilers for 3-20

Francesco was incredibly greedy. There was no aspect of his life that seemed untouched by that one, simple fact. To him, life was a a score card. God was keeping tally and so to live was to expand and to grasp and to conquer. He had to have the most but he also had to have the best. It didn’t matter that he thought black truffles tasted like dirt or that he couldn’t tell Michelangelo from Picasso; if something was the best, it would be his.

Elizabeth had remade herself with this in mind. It had taken weeks of study, of trial and error. She had watched him in the club, watched Juliano’s passing over all the other girls. He would grab them from time to time, take them off for the night, but it rarely happened to the same girl twice. They were beautiful, vivacious women, but when they stood in a chorus line on stage they all blended into each other. The way they did their makeup, the way they styled their hair, the even way they flirted. None of them clearly stood apart from the others and so none of them captivated the audience completely. Every Joe in the Sparrow Room had a different favorite. Elizabeth needed to grab Francesco’s attention and keep it long enough to worm her way into his life, long enough to infiltrate his organization and take him down. She needed to be the undisputed queen of the club.

Bleaching her hair within an inch of its life, she took it past even Darya’s butter yellow finger waves, until it glowed a delicate startling white. She plucked and shaved and exfoliated. She disappeared into a swirl of paint and powder and silk and velvet until, when she was done, she no longer recognized the woman staring back. It had to be admitted, though, that she didn’t hate what she saw. She looked good, damn good. Gone was Elizabeth Colvin from Kentucky. Vito had assigned her a new identity: Lisa Dawson from New Jersey. “Lisa” was hardly a name for a showgirl reinvented, though, so she gussied it up a little and _Mona Lisa_ Dawson was born.

She took everything she had learned from watching the other girls and put it into practice. They were the flapper ideal: loud, peppy, fast; so she, by necessity would be calm and languid. If they were a wink, she’d be a caress. If they were firecrackers, illuminating the night sky with a loud crack and a brilliant burst of light, she would be the moon.

It worked like a charm. Ten seconds into her new persona’s first performance and she knew her hard work was paying off. Every gangster in the place was utterly entranced, including Francesco. Including Vito.

The plan had for him to look at her with stars in his eyes even if the dance had been a mess. When she saw him watching her on the stage, though... a shudder and a thrill traveled down her spine when she locked eyes with him. She hoped to God that no one could fake a look like that. Though everyone in the room was staring at her with desire, it was only in his eyes that she saw something worth having. She’d never seen such dark eyes before. A girl could get lost in eyes like those. Perhaps she already had.

Mr. Puzo was a very handsome man, there was no use in denying it but she reminded herself that there was also no use getting caught up in it. Their worlds could not have been more disparate and whatever twists of fate had made them into co-conspirators now, there was no future there. Besides, this mission was dangerous enough without getting into _complications_.

The whole question was moot now because Elizabeth was currently sitting in the backseat of Francesco Juliano’s Rolls Royce. Her performance had gone off without a hitch. It was anyone’s guess exactly what sealed the deal: her makeover, the slow and sultry number, the drooling adoration of every man in the room or just the ardent attention of long-time rival Vittorio Puzo- everything had come together to form a potent love potion pouring straight down the throat of the mob boss. From the moment she left the stage, he had laid his enormous paws on her, claiming her for all the world- but especiallyVito- to see. In the week and a half since the performance, they had gone out to dinner seven times.

These evenings were largely the same. They went to some outrageously expensive restaurant and he ordered for both of them, the most expensive dish with the most expensive wine. He talked very much and she very little; he wasn’t much of a listener and she was more interested in what he might let slip after several glasses of wine anyway. They would dance until two in the morning, his hands freely exploring her body on the dance floor. Then he would drive her back to the Sparrow Room and wouldn’t let her leave the car until she blew him in the back seat. They were long, difficult, draining nights and she had precious little to show for all her hard work other than a sour taste in her mouth.

Tonight started out in much the same way. Pick up at seven. Necking in the car. The venue of choice was the Swan Club, yet another ritzy club she’d never been to. Francesco was in a particularly good mood tonight, though he was evasive as to exactly why.

“Big night, Lisa, _big_ night,” Francesco said with a sly grin. He had been intermittently saying stuff like that ever since she’d gotten into the car. Elizabeth clenched her jaw. It was the smugness in his voice that got to her- that and the fact that he absolutely refused to _actually_ reveal its cause.

“Is it your birthday?” She asked, feigning interest.

“No...” he chuckled and ran a hand down her bare arm.

“Have you closed a business deal?”

“Soon, but no...” Francesco kissed his way along her shoulder and up her neck, drawing her up in his arms. He was very tall and very broad; he might have made a decent linebacker in another life. When he grabbed her, she felt completely subsumed. There was no resisting and she let him rub his face against her neck.

He might have gone further had the car not stopped outside the club just then. The driver got out and opened the door for them.

“We’ll get back to this later, baby,” Francesco murmured into her ear. Adjusting his tie he stepped out of the car and half helped, half pulled her out after him.

The Swan Club was gaudy. Everything was either gold or marble and sometimes both. It was packed with people in equally ostentatious clothing. The coat check boy who took her coat was carrying five other furs of the highest quality. When Elizabeth and Francesco entered the main ballroom, every person inside turned towards them and cheered. A huge banner unfurled over the stage reading “CONGRATULATIONS” and golden confetti rained down. The band started playing “ _for he’s a jolly good fellow_ ” and Francesco himself lead his guests, which appeared to consist of every mafia connection in the city, in two rounds of the song. At the end of the song he swept Elizabeth up into a showy kiss. Everyone cheered again.

“Frankie baby, what is this all about?” She asked, looping her arm through his as he stood basking in all the adoration.

“Huh?” He wasn’t paying attention to her, instead shooting winks and waving at friends of his. “Oh, sometimes it’s just nice to be appreciated.”

Elizabeth blinked. This whole thing... was just _because_? What kind of psycho-

“Come on, babe, we got rounds to make,” Francesco put his hand on her ass and pulled her along beside him into the crowd. She had expected to be slowly introduced to every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the room but instead she found that he was pulling her, very determinedly _through_ the crowd and heading for the far side of the club.

“Baby, can’t we sit down?” She whined, really wanting to excuse herself and go to the restroom and regroup.

“We will,” he replied tersely, dragging her along. Juliano clearly had something in mind. He waved off acquaintance after acquaintance in pursuit of this end and it wasn’t until they emerged from the crowd and found themselves at a corner table that she understood.

“Well, well, well, Puzo, you old son of a gun, glad to see you came!”

Vittorio was sitting by himself in the corner booth, looking rather bored, with a half consumed whiskey in front of him. He looked up at the salutation and raised the drink in an unenthusiastic toast.

“Juliano,” was his only greeting and he followed it with a sip.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come,” Francesco was smiling broadly at Vito but the unconscious strength with which he was holding Elizabeth to his side suggested that he harbored no kind intentions towards the man.

“You know I never turn down an invitation of yours... even as short notice as this one was. I suppose congratulations are in order,” Vito motioned towards the banner still hanging above the stage, “though, I must confess, I’m not sure what exactly for.”

“No?” Juliano asked, sitting down at the table opposite him. “Well, you will.” He reached out and took Elizabeth by the hand and tugged her forward slightly. “Vito, you remember Mona Lisa Dawson, don’t you?”

“Of course. Good evening, Miss Dawson,” Vito said with a nod.

“Say hello to the gentleman, baby,” Juliano instructed.

“Hello, Mr. Puzo,” she complied. Vito wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Don’t she look great tonight, Puzo? Mona, do a little spin for me.” His voice was dripping was glee. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had run into Vito on one of their dates and he was clearly taking full advantage of the occasion. Francesco was flaunting his newest toy in front of the person he thought most envied it.

“Frankie-” Elizabeth tried to protest but he cut her off with a sharp smack on her bottom. It might have been a trick of the light but Elizabeth could have sworn she saw Vito’s jaw clench momentarily. She gave in and turned slowly around where she stood. Francesco had specifically asked her to wear the figure-hugging dress she’d worn during her big performance. The request had seemed strange but it was starting to make sense now. She couldn’t shake the feeling like this whole night had been set up purely so that Francesco could rub Vito’s face in their relationship.

Francesco whistled as she completed her revolution.

“I’m telling you, they broke the mold when they made this one, huh, Puzo? Come on, babe, have a seat,” Francesco patted his knee. Elizabeth’s face flushed hot with indignation but she complied. A large hand rested itself squarely on her ass. “But I guess I don’t need to tell _you_ how beautiful my girl is though, huh, Puzo? I seem to remember that you made a move on her yourself that night at the Sparrow Room.” Francesco had an enormous, almost manic grin plastered on his face but he was watching Vito intently, looking for a reaction. He _wanted_ a reaction and Elizabeth had a bad feeling he wouldn’t stop until he got one.

“Guess she knows an alpha male when she sees one!” With that Francesco pinched her bottom hard and Elizabeth jumped and let out a small yelp of surprise and pain. Juliano barked with laughter.

“ _Frankie_ ,” Elizabeth chided him, trying to keep her tone flirty despite her revulsion, “we’re in _public_.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, babe. How can I help from showing off a hot little number like you,” Juliano grabbed her head and smashed his mouth against hers, thrusting his tongue down her throat. She tried to push away but he held her fast. Squeezing her eyes shut, she submitted to the kiss. There was no point in trying to push away his wandering hands, or in protesting when he started to knead her breast. His kisses were loud and wet and almost theatrical. Though she could feel him growing hard as she sat on his lap, it was obvious that this was largely a show being put on for the benefit of Mr. Puzo. In that moment, Elizabeth was truly no longer a person: she was an object, an object that Mr. Juliano owned and to which he could, and _would_ , do _whatever_ he wanted. A hand on her thigh pulled up the hem of her dress until it found bare leg and followed it higher and higher until it reached her-

**_CRASH!_ **

The sound of shattering glass broke up the amorous embrace. Looking over, it was immediately clear that Vito had pushed a wine glass off the table. Confused, Elizabeth looked at him for answers, but Vito was glaring at Francesco.

“ _You got something to say, Vittorio?_ ” Francesco asked, coldly pushing Elizabeth away. The two men sat glaring knives at each other and Elizabeth had the terrible feeling an all-out gang war was only moments from breaking out until all the enmity suddenly dropped away from Vito’s face.

“You must have bumped into the table, Frank,” he said with a shrug. Francesco was furious but couldn’t immediately think of a retort and so the moment passed in silence.

Finally, Vito stood up, and pulled at his lapels of his jacket, adjusting them. “You have fun, Frank, I got some business needs tending to. _Congratulations_ again,” and with that, he was gone.

Francesco sat there, boiling away, with Elizabeth still awkwardly perched on his knee. She didn’t dare move and it was a full four minutes before she could summon the courage to speak.

“Frankie,” she cooed softly.

“He dares... he _dares_ ,” he spluttered, struggling to pull together cohesive thoughts in his rage. “He comes to _my_ party- he drinks _my_ alcohol- _who_ the _fuck_ does he- who does- _how_ does- _that little fucking prick, that_ -”

“Frankie,” Elizabeth pressed carefully, extremely aware that she was sitting on a volcano, “Frankie, baby, I think _I_ may have bumped into the table.”

“What?” His face turned sharply to look at her.

“Well,” her voice had gone all breathy and her face was a picture of exaggerated innocence, “well, _honestly_ , Frankie, you can’t just kiss a girl like _that_ and _not_ expect her to get a little... excited.” Elizabeth rubbed her hip bone in a mime of pain and pouted slightly. The violent red flush faded from his face and a condescending sneer took its place.

“Aww, poor baby,” he stroked her back as he relaxed, petting her like a cat, but he looked back at where Vito had been sitting. “Yeah... he wouldn’t dare- he ain’t got the _balls_ to come in here and disrespect me to my face,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Elizabeth nodded and leaned back against his chest, resting her head on his shoulder, and playing carelessly with the large ruby tie pin he was wearing.

“He wouldn’t dare. Nobody would ever dare disrespect you. Not you, not _my man_ ,” she soothed. He hummed in agreement and continued to pet her.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“You invited Mr. Puzo to your party... don’t you like him?”

“Like him?” Francesco scoffed. “One of these days... one of these days, I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”

“But why?”

“He’s always been jealous of me, Lisa. Always wanted anything I had. He’s like a mangy mutt, always biting at my heels. Sometimes,” he ran a hand over her head, as though he were comforting a child, “sometimes, you gotta just put stray dogs down.”

A chill ran down her spine. It wasn’t surprising to hear him speak like that but it still disturbing. Elizabeth, at a loss for words, merely nodded her head. Sitting on his lap like this she felt entirely enveloped by him, and terribly small and fragile. The feeling that, at any moment, he could snap her neck on a whim was inescapable and terrifying. Behind them the party continued, boisterous and bawdy, but she was cut off from in it and trapped entirely in his orbit.

“You’re good for me, baby,” he whispered into her hair, “you calm me down. I don’t want you to go back to the Sparrow Room tonight. You’re coming home with me.” His hands moved up her side and his fingers brushed against her breast. “I want you, Mona Lisa. I want you _now_.”

“Yes, Frankie,” Elizabeth agreed, dread pooling in her stomach. This had always been the plan but... everything was happening so quickly now. She desperately needed a moment to pull herself together. She wasn’t ready, not yet.

Sitting up, she pressed a kiss onto his cheek.

“I’m just going to go powder my nose, baby, then we can leave.”

Francesco agreed begrudgingly and let her get up. She hurried away, slipping through the crowded space and was almost at the ladies bathroom when the coat room boy from before hurried up to her.

“Miss Dawson?” His voice was squeaky and nervous, “there was an accident in the coat room- a spill- we think, we think some might have got on your coat.”

Elizabeth winced, but more for his sake than for her own. The coat was new, an expensive gift of white mink from Francesco. Spilling on that coat would be about the same as spilling on _him_. It would end poorly.

“Please, will you come and take a look? We, we don’t want Mr. Juliano to think, we wouldn’t want-“

“I’ll come,” she agreed, sparing him the pain of trying to further explain, and he led her into the coat check. Behind the window where patrons dropped off their outerwear was a very long, very narrow room which curved away in a gentle U-shape so that the bulk of it was not visible from the front.

“Your coat is at the end,” the boy said, indicating that she should go further in alone, “I- I have to stay up front to take tickets.” It was suspicious and Elizabeth was unsure exactly what she would find, but she nodded and started down the corridor. It was a cold night and everyone in the place must have left a coat there. She ran her hand lightly along the sleeves as she went, feeling the myriad furs and fine wools. She must have walked 80 feet and was well out of view and earshot of the front when she saw her white coat hanging, completely pristine and unmarred, at the end of the closet. Leaning against the wall next to it was Vito. He straightened up when he saw her.

“Are you alright?” He asked stepping forward, genuinely concerned. They couldn’t risk being overheard, even way back there, and so they stood close together, speaking in hushed tones.

“What were you thinking, breaking that glass?” She demanded, ignoring his question. “I’ve never seen anyone so angry. You know he wants to kill you, right?”

“The feeling’s mutual,” he answered, dismissively brushing it off. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“The most dangerous man in New York wants you dead and that’s _nothing to worry about_?” Elizabeth was incredulous. Was life and death really such a daily game to these men?

“Nah, you’re better off worrying about yourself. How is...” Vito trailed off, looking for an appropriate word, or perhaps just one he could bring himself to say, “how is... everything?”

“He likes to talk but he doesn’t say much,” Elizabeth answered with irritation, recalling the hours they’d spent together, “but I think I’m getting there. Tonight I’m- I’m going home with him tonight.”

Vito looked at her sharply, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s okay,” she tried to sound blasé. “This is what we’ve been waiting for. Once I’m in there I can have a proper look around.” Elizabeth folded her arms in front of herself and tried to look tough and indifferent, tried not to show how much she was truly dreading the night ahead of her. It had been all well and good when it was theoretical, but now that she was staring down the proverbial barrel? She suppressed a shudder.

A silence hung in the air between them, heavy and awkward. She played with one of the buttons of her coat, unwilling to return to the ballroom just yet.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” Vito’s voice was soft. “He shouldn’t... I’m sorry.” She wouldn’t look at him, instead staring stubbornly at the button. A lump had formed suddenly in her throat. It was unwelcome and she was trying to swallow it.

“I’m not,” she insisted stubbornly. “I came here to do a job. I’m going to- I’m going to do it. I’m-” her voice caught on that damn lump. She was just so _tired_ , emotionally, physically. Tired of being a treated like a pet but knew that there was no end in sight. Frustrated thoughts ricocheted around her skull until the cooling sensation of a hand placed lightly on her cheek brought her back.

She looked up and found Vito gazing intently at her, a look of empathy, regret, and admiration painted across his own. He was so close to her now, but what struck her most was how unguarded he looked in that moment; she’d never seen him like that before. He leaned forward and his lips brushed against hers in the softest kiss. It lasted only a moment and when he pulled back he seemed surprised at his own actions, as though his body had done it all entirely on its own.

“I-“ he started but whatever he was trying to say was cut off by Elizabeth’s own mouth pressingly firmly against his. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him, and she threw her arms around his neck. They melted into each other.

Vito was tall and strongly built, but not the enormous brute that Francesco was. When he held her against him, the fit was perfect. Elizabeth felt, for the first time in weeks, like a person again, not just a beautiful object. In his arms she was safe but she also felt respected. His lips imparted a longing that was more than simply physical. There was none of the gross groping and grabbing, none of the pinching. The strength in his arms was used only to support her, and his hands only to caress. The whole sensation was utterly intoxicating but it could not be allowed to last. Francesco, she knew, was waiting.

Summoning all her will, she pulled her lips away and buried her face in his neck.

“ _I have to go_ ,” was all Elizabeth could manage to say. Vito kissed her forehead and rested his cheek on her hair.

“I know,” he agreed, but his voice was low and reluctant. Neither had released the other from the embrace, however, and they stood there for another minute. Elizabeth pulled away first, trying to flee the room right then, but Vito caught her hand and held her back a moment. She wouldn’t look back at him again.

“Be careful,” he was almost begging. “If you need something- anything- call me. I will come. Somehow. I will find a way.”

She pulled her hand away. Vito let it slip from his grasp. Without another word or look she fled the closet.

Rushing through the hall, she was finally in the ladies restroom. It was mercifully empty. Elizabeth wanted very much to splash cold water on her face, but feared what it would do to her mascara. She settled for simply washing her hands, letting the cool water run down her fingers. Her heart was racing but her mind was oddly calm. When Vito kissed her, something clicked into place. She wasn’t afraid.

When she left the bathroom, Francesco was waiting impatiently. He had already retrieved both of their coats from from the coat check. His annoyance, however, stemmed only from being made to wait- he hadn’t seen Vito slip away. When he saw Elizabeth he swept the mink over her shoulders and gave her a push towards the door and the cold mid-October night. 

“Come on, baby. We got a big night ahead of us.”


	3. L’État, C’est Moi

Francesco Juliano opened his eyes. The sun was streaming in the windows of his Fifth Avenue mansion; it was a beautiful morning in early November. Rising, he slipped on a burgundy velvet robe to cover his nakedness. Francesco always slept in the nude; it made him feel rugged.

He threw open the enormous French windows and stepped out onto his balcony. The air was cold and crisp, good for the lungs; he inhaled extravagantly, his hands on his hips and his feet boldly planted apart. The balcony overlooked Central Park and beyond it was the ever-growing line of skyscrapers. New York City was laid before him at his feet and that was precisely the way it should be. After all, every king needed a kingdom.

Leaving the windows open, he casually strolled back inside to the marble topped bar cart he kept in his bedroom. It was an exquisite antique piece, 17th century or something? The dealer said it had once been owned by a French King. It had been expensive but when it came to himself, money was no object. The little barhad been the first such piece he’d bought and it was very far from being the last. Every nook and cranny of the eight bedroom mansion was stuffed with such things. He kept antique dealers on retainer now. When the good stuff came in, they were under strict orders to tell him _first_.

Francesco opened the carved ivory cigar box and took out a Cuban cigar which he ran under his nose, inhaling the deep, earthy musk. He clipped the tip with his gold cigar clipper and lit it with his mother of pearl inlaid lighter. Clamping it between his teeth and puffing away, he poured himself a glass of 50 year old scotch whiskey. Between the cigar and the whiskey, his mouth and throat were coated in a delicate sheen of luxurious smoke. _Breakfast of champions_ , he mused.

Life was goddamn fucking _great_. Already the most feared mafia don on the eastern seaboard, Francesco was preparing to climb even higher. It wasn’t enough anymore to be feared, he wanted formal recognition from all the other crime families. Soon, he would get it: the Assembly was meeting. The Assembly hadn’t been due to meet for months but when _he_ called? When he, _Francesco Juliano_ , called, they all jumped to attention. There he would present his plan to expand their business, to bring new drugs into their territories. They would hail him as not only a fucking genius, but they would _also_ recognize him as the _capo_ _dei capi_ , the boss of bosses. He was about to hit the big time.

Soon, even this grand house would look like a shack. He had bought it only about a year or two ago and it was very nice but...Francesco’s head spun with the possibilities. He wanted one of those driveways that was at least a mile long. He needed a grand, marble staircase in the entry hall. He wanted a garden with fountains and a pool and statues and _peacocks_. When he was little he saw a picture of the palace in France where the kings lived and ever since that was exactly what he wanted. Lots of gold. Lots of mirrors. Lots of everything. Christ, he had a semi just thinking about it.

Francesco’s eyes wandered over the woman still asleep in his bed. There wasn’t much of her visible. She was bundled up within an inch of her life, the silk sheets and thick comforter pulled up over her shoulders; only the soft waves of her platinum hair were visible from where he stood. Wandering over to her side of the king-sized mahogany bed, Francesco stood, staring at her delicate face as he sipped his drink.

His mother had been badgering him to get married _for years_. First seriously bringing up the topic when he turned 17, his mother had only grown more determined as he aged. Now, with Juliano about to turn 36, she was damn near obsessed. A never ending stream of prospects was trotted out any time he went to the house he had bought his mother for family dinner. They were all very nice Italian girls with names like Maria or- well, no, all of the ones he could remember were named Maria. These Marias were all boring. They were the kind of girl who’d sit around kitchens all day wearing aprons. Common girls. _Peasant_ girls.

Showgirls were more Francesco’s style, though he never wanted to _marry_ any of them. These women were always throwing themselves at him, these flapper types with thin ankles, rouged knees and names like Roxie or Trixie. They were like cars to him: he’d grab the flashiest one he saw, ride it around for a bit, and then change it out for a better model once he lost interest. They never lasted more than a month. If the girl had been well enough behaved and accepted that they were over, he’d hand her off to some one or other of his lieutenants. If they _couldn’t_ accept it? There were plenty of places Juliano could put women where they would never bother him again.

The woman in his bed was different. She wasn’t a Maria or a Roxie. She didn’t belong in a kitchen and he didn’t want her on the stage. _She_ belonged exactly where she was- naked in his Chinese silk sheets. Mona Lisa Dawson had _everything_. She was beautiful and she knew how to style herself. She had a killer body and knew how to use it; Francesco loved watching the way she just kind of swayed her hips when she danced. She knew how to appreciate a real man like him in bed, and her screams there drove him wild. She was obedient, up for anything, and _grateful_ when he gave it to her.

The best part, though, was that he knew for a fact that he wasn’t the only one who wanted her. After all, what was the use in having nice things if no one else wanted them, too? Once, an antique dealer had tried to sell him a side table that he said was the finest example he’d ever seen- but the man had only asked $100 for it. When Francesco had asked him why the price was so low if it was so good, the guy had actually _had the balls_ to say that it was because no one else seemed to want it- but that he was sure that he, _Francesco Juliano_ , would appreciate it. Juliano punched out that asshole’s teeth for that. He didn’t want nobody’s fucking _trash_. No, the best part was that he knew one person in particular wanted her: Vittorio Puzo.

Francesco had always hated Vittorio. As kids, Puzo had been the only one who would stand up to him, the only one who wouldn’t just _give_ him whatever he wanted. Worse still, he’d never been able to land a solid blow on the little fucker. Francesco was as big and as strong as an ox, but Vittorio was so damn quick and he’d always managed to just slip away. Never in his life had Francesco been able to get the better of Vittorio. Nothing seemed to bother him! Most men Juliano knew would have killed you if you so much as called them a bastard, but Vittorio just let it all slide. Puzo always seemed two steps ahead of him, too... but not now. Not anymore. Now Francesco finally had the upper hand. He had the Assembly eating out of his palm and he had the only girl, the only thing, Francesco had ever seen Vito lose his cool over. He had wanted Mona Lisa before he noticed the way Vito looked at her, but after? After, he _demanded_ to have her.

Francesco sipped the last of his scotch and set the glass down.

“Lisa, baby, wake up.”

Removing his robe, he pulled the covers back off the drowsy figure and climbed back into bed with her.

Mona Lisa was _his_.

He would _never_ let her go.


	4. The Clock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains spoilers through 4-18.

The clock on the desk was ticking. Vito knew this because he was staring at it, tapping his index finger in time with the second hand. He was alone in his office watching the hand’s slow traverse and had been for hours.

The desk was immaculate. Normally, Vito’s desk was a reflection of his life: precisely organized, uncluttered, spotless, and rather spartan. A stranger looking in might have thought that the desk was rarely used. In one corner of the there was an electric desk lamp with a phone next to it, and in the other a little silver pen cup containing three fountain pens. A smart little brass clock stood center front. There was short stack of correspondence piled neatly on the right side, a ledger perfectly squared on the left. There was one picture, a photograph of his sister, Stella, but that was kept _inside_ the desk. It was accessible but out of the way. Crime was an inherently messy business and the best way to survive and thrive in it was to keep _everything_ simple.

The clock on the desk was ticking. Vito was waiting for Elizabeth. She had called yesterday, _finally_ called. He had told her to reach out only in an emergency but it had been too long since he’d heard anything at all- almost three weeks. More worrying still was that it had been two and a half days since he’d heard from Leonard, the man he’d tasked with keeping an eye on the situation. Leonard was a good soldier, not one to drop the ball. When Elizabeth finally did call she had been almost incoherent.

“ _It’s me_ ,” Vito had told her never to use names on the phone, “ _I need- I need to see you. No, now! I need to, oh god, oh my god, I can’t- I have to see you, I have to see you now! He’s- he’s- please, I have to see you!”_

Vito felt sick to his stomach remembering that phone call. There had been nothing he could do in the moment. Lately, Nino had noticed suspicious figures lingering outside the brownstone. They suspected Juliano had people watching the house. For him to have gone to Elizabeth right then would have been suicide. That feeling of helplessness haunted him. Vito couldn’t explain his need to protect her. They’d only known each other a few months. They had nothing in common. Elizabeth wasn’t family, she wasn’t from the neighborhood, they were barely from the same _planet_ , but the strength of his urge to shield her was undeniable.

The clock on the desk was ticking. Vito buried his face in his hands. He couldn’t protect her. She was always just out of reach; it was the way it had to be. Juliano had to go and to do that Elizabeth had to get close to him. That was the plan and it tore him up inside. His nights lately had become excruciatingly long and restless. She was with that monster and she was completely alone. He couldn’t-

“ _Oh god, oh my god_ ” Her frightened voice rang in his ears. Where was she? In order to get her safely to him he had had to concoct a ludicrously complex maze for her to lose any potential tails in. It would take time, sure, but she should have been here by now.

The clock on the desk was ticking so, so slowly. Something had gone wrong, of course it had. Juliano had gotten wise to the whole thing, had caught her snooping, had found out where she was going, was holding her by her neck and squeezing the life out of her. Vito’s hands slid off his face and into his neatly combed hair, grabbing it in fistfuls and pulling. Where _was_ she?

The clock on the desk was ticking and ticking and ticking. It wouldn’t stop. Where was she, _where was she?_

Tick

Tick

Tick

Tick

Vito jumped to his feet, grabbed the clock, and smashed it down onto the the desk _hard_. Papers flew. The clock’s glass face shattered. The ticking stopped.

The door opened.

“Boss-” Nino opened the door but stopped dead, staring at the sight of his normally controlled friend.

“ _What_.” Vito snapped.

“Uh, Miss Colvin’s here,” Nino said, eyes fixed on the mangled clock. “I, uh, I can ask her to wait-”

“No!” Vito answered quickly, running a hand through his disheveled hair, trying to smooth it back down.“No, show her in!”

“Okay...” Nino said warily but didn’t move. “Boss, are you-”

“Show her _in_ , _Nino_.”

Nino knew that tone. He turned and a moment later Elizabeth walked into the room. She was dressed in a man’s black suit, her silver bob shoved up under a fedora. The suit was too big for her but that was on purpose; her curves were completely hidden and, from a distance, she just looked like some joe who should fire his tailor.

Vito, who had been unable to think about anything apart from this woman for days, froze at the sight of her. She was very pale; she looked like she’d been getting even less sleep than he had. Her eyes wouldn’t meet his, instead looking straight ahead at the desk, though apparently without noticing anything amiss. Neither she nor Vito said a word.

“Can I- do you need anything, boss?” Nino was still in the doorway, clearly aware that something- or more likely several things- was terribly wrong.

“No,” Vito answered with an conscious effort to sound calm. Thank god for Nino. How long might he have just stood there dumbly if it weren’t for him?

“No, just close the door. No one comes in here, okay? No one.”

“Sure,” Nino nodded. “I’ll be outside if you need anything.” The door closed behind him.

Vito and Elizabeth stood in silence. Why wouldn’t she look at him?

“You got a cigarette?” She asked at length in a strange, tremulous tone. Wordlessly, Vito walked to the mantle above the fireplace and took down a wooden box where he kept a supply. He approached Elizabeth and held the open box out to her. As she took one he noticed that her hand was shaking badly. Vito took his silver lighter out of his pocket and lit it.

“Elizabeth,” he started but she immediately strode past him and walked over to the fireplace. It was a cold, rainy November day and so he had started the fire himself some hours ago. It had been something to do while he waited. She stood there, looking into the fire, taking the occasional puff on the cigarette. Removing the fedora from her head, she shook out her hair. It looked very much like she was trying to appear calm. Vito knew the feeling.

Slowly, cautiously, Vito walked over to the fireplace and stood next to her. He placed the cigarette box back on the mantle. He moved a hand to touch her arm but the contact made her jump.

“ _Don’t_!” She snapped, recoiling from his touch.

“Okay,” Vito raised his hands up and took a half step back. Her reaction stung a little. “I’m sorry. I won’t touch you. Just... tell me what’s going on?”

Elizabeth took a long drag on her cigarette. Her whole body was trembling now. She was fighting a battle to maintain control and she was losing. Looking at her like this... she looked so different from that confident, bright reporter he had first known.

“I- we... _I_ was worried,” Vito tried again, his voice very soft and low. “I hadn’t heard anything from you. We haven’t even heard anything from Leonard-”

“No! No, well, you wouldn’t, would you?” She laughed strangely, tossing the used up cigarette butt into the fire.

“Elizabeth-”

Suddenly, she began to gasp for air and clasped her hands to her face. Great, heaving sobs shook her whole body.

“God, Vito! _Vito_ ,” she wailed, starting to claw at her own face, “I- _I_ -“

Horrified, Vito grabbed her wrists and yanked them away from her face.

“Elizabeth! _Elizabeth, what happened_?”

“I- oh, _god, Vito, I killed Leonard_ ,” Elizabeth cried, her eyes wide with terror, her face wracked with guilt. “ _He found out, Frankie found out that he worked for you! He took me to him- they’d beaten him- he put a gun in my hands and told me- oh god!- to shoot him- told me, told me- I did it! I shot him! He’s dead and I- I- I-_ ” her voice became finally too choked to continue.

Vito pulled her to his chest and held her hard against him. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him and bawled into him. Whatever dam she had built up inside to protect herself from Juliano had burst. Vito let her cry. This was his fault. This was his mistake, but she was paying for it. All he could do was hold her.

When her crying finally began to soften, he took her face in his hands and tilted it up to look at him. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face streaked with tears. He couldn’t bare it.

“This is not your fault,” Vito said firmly. “Whatever end you gave Leonard was a mercy compared to what Juliano would have done himself. This is not on you. Juliano killed him. Not _you_.”

“But I-” she tried to protest but Vito shook his head and wouldn’t let her finish the thought.

“Did Juliano put the gun in your hands?”

She nodded.

“Did he order you to shoot?”

Again, she nodded.

“It was his choice, not yours. You did not kill Leonard.”

Tears were still streaming from her eyes, but the sobs had finally subsided. With a thumb, he gently wiped them away.

“Elizabeth, I will never lie to you,” Vito breathed. “On my mother’s grave, I swear I will never lie to you. _This is not your fault._ ” He kissed her forehead.

“Juliano’s so, he’s so _cruel_ ,” said Elizabeth, her voice breaking from the remnants of her sobbing. “He killed one of his own men right in front of me. He wanted me to know w-what would happen to me i-if I, _if I_ -”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I... didn’t want you to think I wasn’t enough.”

“ _What_?” Vito asked incredulously. “Not enough? Elizabeth, you’re-”

“But it’s true!” She interrupted, “I’m _not_! I’m just some stupid-”

“ _No_ ,” Vito stopped her again, “No, you’re not _just_ anything. You’re... you’re amazing- you’re so,” Words were failing him but he tried to press on.

“None of this should have ever happened to you. This wasn’t your fight. No one else in the world would have done, _could_ have done... There’s no one else like you.”

“I’ve been so alone.” Elizabeth’s voice was hoarse.

“You’re not alone. I’m here. I will always be here.”

Her large grey eyes gazed up at him. Those eyes had been so sad before, but something had changed in them. They were so trusting, so gentle. His chest was aching.

“Vito,” she whispered, “I love you.”

His heart dropped to his feet. Vito couldn’t believe what he had just heard. She- she _couldn’t_... he was _no one_. He was the orphaned son of immigrants who had been spat on his whole life. He was scum who had clawed his way up from the absolute bottom of the stinking refuse of New York City. He would never be able to scrub the reek of the underworld from his flesh.He was utterly, utterly unworthy of this woman.

“I can’t-” Vito started. “ _Elizabeth_ , I-” He shouldn’t, he knew better, knew this was bad, knew this was dangerous but he could feel her breath on his lips. He was already in love, had been for weeks, maybe longer. He’d been resisting the idea, ignoring the truth of the situation, fighting against it but in this moment Vito ceased to struggle.

“I love you,” Vito surrendered. His lips were on hers and she consumed him. They poured into each other with a famished hunger that demanded to be satisfied. Their hands roamed, exploring, urging the other on.

Elizbaeth’s hands tugged at the bottom of his dress shirt, pulling it from where it had been tucked in, working it free so her fingers could dive beneath and find the warm skin beneath.

Vito worked lose the tie she was wearing, unbuckled her belt, began down the row of buttons on her shirt. It was strange, taking such familiar garments off of this woman- strange, but not unpleasant.

Elizabeth had worked off his belt as well, unzipped his fly, and taken his now exposed erection in her hand. Vito groaned at the warm pressure of her hand. She began to stroke him and he shuddered. Dear _god_ , it felt good, but her touch was already becoming too much. He couldn’t allow this to end so soon.

His kisses wandered away from her mouth and began to trail their way down her neck, following the skin exposed by the shirt buttons as he undid them one by one. He tore open the trousers which were now impeding his progress, pulling them and her drawers down in one motion. Between her legs was a cloud of soft brown curls. He parted them with his fingers and eagerly began to lap at the pink folds he found there. Elizabeth’s moan reverberated through him and he felt his cock twitch. Her hands gripped his head, holding on for balance as he devoured her.

“Vito,” she sighed and moved his head away from her, “Vito, I want you.” He looked up at her and she sank down to the floor with him. She kissed him deeply before pushing him down to the ground.

There was a quick mess of fumbling as they both struggled to completely remove their pants but she was soon on top of him. His cock was completely erect and she easily maneuvered it to line up with the wetness between her legs. The sensation of just the head meeting up with her warmth sent a wave of pleasure through Vito. With a moan she slid herself down its length until it was completely sheathed within her.

For the first time since their lips had met their frantic pace slowed down for a moment as she adjusted to his considerable size. Vito stared up at her in wonder. Elizabeth’s eyes were closed, her head back, lost to the sensation. The dress shirt, though completely open and exposing her breasts, still clung to her shoulders, covering her arms. Vito moved to brush it off but she intercepted his hands, leaving the shirt in place, and instead placed them on her hips.

She began to rock, sliding herself up and down his cock.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Vito groaned, “ _Elizabeth_!”

She established a steady rhythm with her hips, sighing and moaning with every movement. Vito couldn’t take his eyes off her. The turn of her neck, the hypnotic bounce of her breasts, the seductive way she was gazing at him with her mouth slightly open.

“ _Vito_ ,” she moaned. A heat like embers was beginning to build inside of him.

Elizabeth, too, was getting close, he could tell. Her rhythm had gained speed and her moans were growing louder and higher pitched. Vito reached a hand between her legs and began to rub her swollen clitoris. Gasping, she clutched at her breast.

“Oh, god, Vito, oh, _Vito_!” She cried out, her back arching in agonizing ecstasy. The movement tipped Vito over the edge and he came inside of her.

She collapsed forward onto his chest, her face buried in his neck. He drew his arms around her. They stayed like that as their ragged breathing slowly returned to normal. Vito didn’t dare to move or speak; he wouldn’t risk breaking the spell of the moment.

Eventually, Elizabeth rolled off of him, stood, and began to gather her scattered disguise.

“I’ll be missed,” she muttered.

Vito lay there a moment longer, struggling to take in everything that had just transpired between the two of them. Reluctantly, he finally stood up, pulling his pants back up. He couldn’t help but glance over at her, though she was doing her best not to look at him. Elizabeth was holding two neckties in her hands and staring at them.

“I think... this one’s yours,” she held one of them out to him. As he reached out to take it, the shirt she was still wearing slipped off her shoulder and he saw why she had kept it on. On the upper part of her arm were a series of ugly yellow and purple bruises where someone had grabbed her too hard. Vito didn’t have to to think too hard to know who had done it.

Elizabeth saw him looking and pulled the shirt back up over the bruises, embarrassed.

“I’m going to kill that bastard,” his voice was low and angry.

“We _both_ are,” she corrected.

Vito nodded and turned away, trying to give her some shred of privacy as she redressed. Walking over to his desk, he found that he had flung his jacket haphazardly over it and managed to knock over the table lamp, the phone, _and_ the pen cup. _What a mess,_ he thought. Retrieving the three pens from the ground, he righted the cup and placed them inside.

“I meant what I said before,” said Vito, staring at a little dent in the cup that hadn’t been there before. “I love you, Elizabeth.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Elizabeth standing there. She was dressed now, once again concealed within that awful, baggy suit. She was smiling at him. It was a small, gentle smile, full of warmth and hope and promise. It was the kind of smile that could wash away the grime and start the world over again. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his whole goddamn life.


	5. Una Polpetta Perfetta

If there was an art to the perfect meatball then Nino was Michelangelo. It wasn’t that he was much of a cook, this was really the _only_ thing he could make. In a mostly failed effort to keep her son off the mean streets of Manhattan, Mrs. Ricci had pulled a 10 year old Nino into her kitchen one summer and demanded he help her out. By August’s end he had knocked her prized basil plant off the fire escape, somehow managed to light a pot of spaghetti on _fire_ , and made ravioli so inexplicably hard she had to go see a dentist. But his meatballs? _Che bellisima!_ Those things could make the devil turn over a new leaf. Until her early death a few years later, that summer was the last time Mrs. Ricci had to make them herself.

It was nice, Nino found, to have even just one little thing at which _he_ was the best. He didn’t make them terribly frequently, it was a fairly lengthy process and he was far too busy for that. Whenever the holidays rolled around, though, or if there was a big family style meal, you could be sure to find them on the table- so long as you got there early enough to grab one, of course. New York City certainly had its share of great Italian restaurants, but when it came to the spherical simplicity of the _polpetta_ , everybody who was anybody knew whose were the best.

The present batch wasn’t celebratory, however, they were medicinal. Vito was looking like shit and had done for the past week or so. It had been Nino’s hope that after finally admitting to Miss Colvin that he was wildly in love with her that Vito would lose the miserable expression he’d been wearing for months, but it had only gotten worse. Vito was spending more and more time alone in his office, sometimes going through multiple packs of cigarettes a day. Nino swore he was starting to lose weight. It was no way to live.

And, thus, the meatballs.

Things had been rough lately. They had been waiting for what seemed like an eternity for Elizabeth to report back from her role as their mole with a time and a place they could finally take Juliano out. The situation was beginning to seriously wear on Vito. It wasn’t that Nino didn’t understand; he had been in love before, too. Love made you a little crazy at the best of times and these were _not_ the best of times. Assassination was always a tough racket even without romantic entanglement. Since their confessions to each other, Vito and Elizabeth’s meetings were as brief as they were rare, and they always ended the same way. No matter what, she had to go back to Juliano and act as though nothing had happened. Nino had frequently been tasked with driving her at least part of the way back. She was a good sort and he liked her. She tried to be friendly and chatty with him, to pretend that she was alright. It was okay, Nino had told her, if she needed to cry. Sometimes she did, relieving herself for just a short period before she got out of the car. Even if he hadn’t been Vito’s oldest friend it would have taken a hard heart to watch all that anguish and not feel anything. It was necessary, they all reminded themselves. It couldn’t be helped but it was still hell.

They were all-Vito, Miss Colvin, Nino, hell, the whole criminal outfit- all standing on the edge of a knife. It was abundantly clear to everyone in the New York underworld that a seismic shift in power was coming. What _was_ unclear was _who_ was going to rise to the top. Juliano was the front runner, of course, but Vito wasn’t the only one shuffling cards in the background. Nino knew the heads of the other families, though, and knew that none of them had as good ofa shot at success as they did. When Vito was the top of his game there was nothing he couldn’t do. Nino needed him at the top of his game.

And, thus, the meatballs.

Ten meaty spheres, each just slightly smaller than a baseball, simmered away in a pot of tomato sauce. A heavenly aroma of tomato, meat, and an array of herbs and spices the precise combination of which was known only to Nino and (maybe) God, wafted through the air. They were almost done. It was always those last moments, when you were so _close_ , which were always the longest. Nino never used a timer, never looked at the clock. When the time was right, he would know.

 _Pazienza, Antonino_. Even now he could hear his mother. _Have patience. Cooking is an act of love and love must be patient_.

It wasn’t a lesson that had served Mrs. Ricci well. _Mr_. Ricci had always been a son of a bitch and Nino never did believe that his mother had “just tripped” down _five flights_ of stairs. Everyone in the neighborhood had told Nino to just swallow his anger- everyone except for Vito, of course. Vito always believed him, _always_ had his back. At 15 years old, Vito helped Nino make sure that his father never hurt anyone ever again.

Finally, Nino turned off the heat and moved the pot off its burner. As he opened the cabinet to take out a plate, a phone rang down the hall in Vito’s office. It was quick- it had been picked up almost instantly- but unmistakable.

“ _Please_ ,” he muttered, using a large wooden spoon to place three meatballs carefully on the plate, “please, please, _please_ , be the call.” Grabbing a fork, he left the kitchen.

The door to Vito’s office was slightly ajar and as he opened it, Nino heard the click of the phone being hung up. Vito was at his desk, hand still on the receiver, stroking his chin thoughtfully. There were sizable dark circles under his eyes and his skin was sallow. He didn’t immediately look at Nino.

“Tomorrow,” he said after a few beats, “Salumi’s on Kinney.”

A wave of relief washed over Nino.

“Boss, that’s _perfect_!” Nino couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Salumi’s! It was one of their own haunts! They knew that area like the backs of their hands. They could be in and out of that joint in an instant and no one would ever be the wiser! You couldn’t ask for a better set up than that, but the grim, dour look on Vito’s face dispelled his enthusiasm.

“Is it... is that not perfect?”

“It’s fine,” Vito shook his head, brushing it off. “It’s fine- I just- there’s a lot to do.”

“Sure, sure, don’t worry about that, Vito, I got that all taken care of. But look!” Nino stepped forward and placed the plate before him. “My famous meatballs! Take a break! Eat a bite!”

“Nah, I’m not hungry,” Vito swiveled his chair slightly away and picked the phone back up.

“What? But-”

“I’m fine,” Vito asserted and wedged the earpiece between his head and shoulder.

“Vito-”

“Operator, get me Jackson 2-5-9-1.” Vito shook out another cigarette from the mostly empty and slightly crumped carton on the desk.

“HEY,” Nino shouted and swatted the cigarette out of Vito’s hand. “ _You eat that goddamn meatball._ ”

Vito stared at him dumbstruck. They’d been friends for roughly thirty years and Nino had _never_ talked to him like that before.

“Nino-”

“I was in the goddamn kitchen for _hours_ ,” Nino interrupted. He yanked the phone out of Vito’s hand and hung it up with a _slam_. “I made a whole batch of these meatballs _just for you_ and you _are going to eat them,_ see? Would you _look_ at yourself, Vito? You’re a mess! Skin and bones! You think you’re any good like this? You think you can take Juliano like this? You think you can help _Miss Colvin_ like this? No! You can’t! _Eat the god damn meatball._ ”

The two men glared at each other.

“The sooner you eat them, the sooner I start making those calls,” Nino said.

Vito looked at the meatballs steaming in front of him. He looked back up at Nino, who crossed his arms.

“I got all day, buddy.”

Begrudgingly, Vito picked up the fork, cut a chunk of the first meatball and stuck it in his mouth.

“Mmm,” Vito involuntarily moaned as he chewed. He was trying to stay annoyed but was quickly failing.

“Damn it, Nino,” he said, swallowing the bite and cutting another, “goddamnit, you make a good meatball.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nino outwardly ignored the compliment, though truly he lived for them. “There are seven more in that kitchen and you’d better eat each and every last one of them.”

“You don’t want any?” Vito said, already stuffing the last of the second meatball into his mouth.

“Nah, somebody’s got to do work around here. I got a lot of calls to make. Tomorrow at Salumi’s? No problem.”

Nino closed the door behind him on the way out and stood there for a moment enjoying a feeling of immense satisfaction.

The meatballs had done it again.


	6. Cloak And Dagger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mild domestic violence

Wearing a concealed gun up around one’s thigh was a singularly strange sensation, Elizabeth found. It was taking every ounce of her considerable willpower not to fidget with the damn thing. It was a small gun, not more than five inches long, but it felt _enormous_. She was deep inside enemy territory, sitting in the large central living room of Juliano’s mansion, surrounded by his friends and family with the prospect of more joining them later. Despite being Francesco’s girl she was still an outsider and the shadow of suspicion was the absolute last thing in the world she needed.

How exactly to keep the gun from notice was a problem that had been robbing her of sleep. A concealed holster on her leg was only one part of her plan. The greater part concerned fashion- or at least clothing, anyway.

Juliano’s birthday was an _Occasion_ of the greatest importance, so she had taken full advantage of the opportunity to go all out with her costume. There was so much going on with it that if she had a _cannon_ strapped to her leg, it was doubtful that anyone would notice. Her dress was what the French might have called _un crime contre la mode_ : a crime against fashion. It was a sort of one shouldered robe of olive colored crushed velvet, festooned within an inch of its life with every sort of tassel, trim, appliqué, and fringe imaginable. The most inexplicable sheer cape trailed behind, promising to almost immediately snag and tear on the first door, foot, or pebble it encountered. 

Despite having been custom made to her own body, the fit was _atrocious_. It had been, naturally, an expensive gift from Francesco and he had had insisted on complete creative control. He had virtually designed the thing himself and it was a grand testament to his bad taste.

“ _I gotta see her tits!_ ” He’d yelled during the fitting. The seamstresses, through huffs and glares, had begrudgingly taken away several inches worth of fabric from the bodice. He had been fully ready to insist on similar treatment for her posterior but Elizabeth had successfully explained that if it was too tight she wouldn’t able to sit on his lap- or pull it up in the car. Francesco had relented.

While the dress was certainly _eye catching_ enough on its own, Elizabeth left _nothing_ to chance and had heaped onto her person every single gaudy gift of jewelry Juliano had ever bestowed on her. She glittered with gold, silver, pearls, rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. Topping off the garish display were opera length black gloves, silver heels, and a silver headband with an absurdly large black egret plume on the side.

“Baby!” Juliano had declared upon first seeing her in the get-up earlier that evening, “you look _amazing_!”

He’d made her twirl around at least three times, unable to get enough; tears misted his vision as he beheld his masterpiece. Elizabeth had to concede that she did look amazing- amazing _ly vulgar and tacky_. It was all she could do to stop herself from rolling her eyes whenever she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror.

 _Eat your heart out, Mae West_ , she thought and took a drag on the Virginia Slim in her long ebony cigarette holder. Elizabeth was now sat alone on a couch in the living room, waiting for the night’s festivities to begin, and mostly ignoring the men around her.

About six or seven Julianos were gathered there in the living room with Francesco and her. These were mostly cousins of varying degree, all male, but each conformed to the same type: unabashed toadies. These were Francesco’s inner circle, his best friends, the most simpering sycophants money and blood could provide. They were crowded around Francesco, paying court and showering him with compliments, laughing at his jokes, and congratulating him on god only knows what. Elizabeth had been introduced to them but she hadn’t bothered to remember their names. They were interchangeable goons. They wouldn’t matter after tonight

 _This will all be over soon_ , Elizabeth promised herself silently. _I will never come here again. I will never see these people again. I will burn this god-awful rag. I will burn everything he ever touched._ Her eyes closed, she imagined deep orange fingers of flame devouring dress after dress. A smile spread unconsciously across her face and her body finally began to relax at the thought of this cleansing fire. She could move on with her life after tonight. Perhaps she and Vito could-

“MONA,” Francesco barked at her from across the room, interrupting her reverie. Her body went stiff as a board again. He and all the Cousins were staring at her. “Ain’t you listening?”

“Yes,” she lied. “You’re right and I agree with you.”

“Oh? _What did I say?_ ” Francesco was frowning. Worried Cousins looked side-eyed at each other.

“I... don’t know, Frankie baby,” Elizabeth said with a shrug, “but you’re _always_ right so I always agree.”

Silence.

Francesco began to laugh uproariously and was joined quickly by the Cousins.

“See! What did I tell you? The perfect woman!” He howled.

The Cousins nodded in agreement, some popping in comments here and there like _wish my wife was like that!_ Or _You got yourself a real keeper there!_ Or _Oh baby, where have you been all my life!_ Juliano stood there preening, accepting the comments about her as compliments about himself.

“Mona Lisa, baby, come here,” Juliano said, importantly quieting the men around him. “I got something for you.”

 _God, what now_? Elizabeth groaned inwardly and did her best to rise naturally from the couch despite the clumsy bulk of the hidden pistol. _I’m already more decorated than a Christmas tree!_

“But, Frankie, it’s _your_ birthday, I don’t need anything!” Elizabeth casually tried to demur whatever was coming her way as she hesitantly approached the group of men. There was a strange grin on Francesco’s face.

“This _is_ a present for me,” he chuckled. “Hold out your hands.”

Elizabeth’s heart began to race as she slowly extended her black gloved hands in a cup before her. She noticed Cousins elbowing each other conspiratorially.

 _What the hell_ , she thought and the cold press of steel against her thigh catapulted the pistol again into the forefront of her mind. _Does he know? How can he know? Oh god..._ Leonard’s battered and bloody face pleading for her to kill him danced through her thoughts. In her panic, Elizabeth half expected him to take out a machete and chop her hands off right there but instead he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black velvet box which he placed into her hands. Elizabeth stared at it stupidly.

“Well, open it, woman!” He waved her on condescendingly. The Cousins were positively giggling.

Taking the box in her now shaking fingers, she prized open the lid. Inside was a small golden ring holding what was far and away the largest diamond she had ever seen in her life.

_Oh god._

“Frankie-” Elizabeth breathed in horror. Her heart had stopped.

_No, no, no._

“We’re getting married, fellas!” Francesco announced, his arms raised in the air theatrically. Cousins immediately began to cheer and clap him on the shoulder.

“Good man!” Said one.

“Never thought I’d see the day! Couldn’t happen to a better guy!” Said another.

“Lucky guy! Luckier girl!” Said a third, actually reaching over the still-frozen Elizabeth to shake Francesco’s hand.

“Look! She’s speechless!” A Cousin finally noticed that Elizabeth hadn’t moved a muscle and was still staring at the ring. “You got a real way with the broads, Frankie!”

“Well, _put it on, Lisa,_ ” Francesco instructed, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“I-” Elizabeth tried to speak but truly could not. She was happy to play the mistress, fine with pretending to be the girlfriend, but the _fiancée_? She recoiled at the notion. Francesco reached over, took the ring out of the box and jammed it painfully onto her still-gloved ring finger.

“Perfect fit!” Cried a cousin and the rest cheered again.

“ _Frankie_ -” she whispered but was immediately drowned out by yet another Cousin calling from the side of the room where he was standing with a phone clasped to his shoulder.

“Hey, Frank! It’s your Ma! Says she don’t want to go to Salumi’s!”

“What? _This again_...” Francesco turned away from Elizabeth, leaving her staring at the ring. “Well, where does she want to go?”

“Says she wants to go to Aunt Tara’s!”

“Fine with me,” Francesco conceded surprisingly easily, though it was plain from his tone that he was less than thrilled.

“Hey, Frank! Has your Ma met Mona?” Asked a Cousin, bringing him back into the conversation.

“Nah! But I know she’ll love her!”

“Hey, Frankie! When do you think the big day will be?”

“Tomorrow! Sooner we marry, the sooner we honeymoon!” Francesco joked to howls and hoots of laughter.

“ _Tomorrow_...?” Elizabeth questioned numbly.

“You’re right! Why wait? Tonight!” The men laughed and laughed and laughed.

The room was bustling around Elizabeth but she was no longer sensible of it. She stood there, staring down blankly at the ridiculous ring on her finger. She... she was getting married to Francesco. The dinner was moving and the hit wouldn’t happen and she was getting _married to Francesco_. This wasn’t going to end tonight and the notion that this might _never_ end was making the blood drain from her face.

Francesco had recently been talking about a grand house out in the country and suddenly she could perfectly see her life there as a bird in a cage. She would never get out, she would never get justice for all those girls, she would never... she would never see _Vito_ again. Those beautiful dark eyes would be lost to her forever. Trapped out in the countryside, isolated in her own personal hell, she would hear one day that Francesco had finally killed Vito just like he’d always wanted. Elizabeth’s head was swimming.

This would never end.

There was no way out and as that thought settled upon Elizabeth, the room around her began to swirl and the ground rushed up to greet her.

* * *

A hand persistently tapping her cheek bought Elizabeth to. Fluttering open, her eyes took a moment to focus on the beige and black mass before her. It was Francesco’s face, his eyes wide and watchful.

“Lisa! Baby! You’re awake!”

Elizabeth sat up from where she had been placed on a couch. They were alone in the living room; Francesco had evidently pushed all the Cousins out.

“You fainted,” he said. The look on his face was a strange mix of concern and confusion. “Why? Why did you faint? ...Ain’t- ain’t broads supposed to be _happy_ to be getting married?”

Elizabeth stared at him. Plainly it had never occurred to Francesco that any woman could possibly not want to marry him. So entirely sure had he been of her answer that he hadn’t even actually bothered to ask the question. Her silence, however, was causing the old, rusted gears in his brain to start slowly turning. Elizabeth could see the look on his face starting to shift from confusion to the perception that she might not want to marry him. However true that sentiment was, she had to nip it in the bud.

“Oh, _Frankie_ ,” she gushed, grabbing his hands and clasping them to her breast, “of course, I want to marry you! What girl _hasn’t_ dreamed of becoming your wife? But I-” she needed an excuse that was at once believable and stroked his ego. “But I never thought _you’d_ ever want to marry _me_!”

Crying on command had never been something Elizabeth could do readily, but she found it extraordinarily easy at the moment. Great tears welled in her eyes and promised to spill over.

“ _I’m just a stupid farm girl_!” She cried, “ _I’m not nearly good enough for you!_ ”

The look of trepidation slid off Francesco’s face, immediately replaced by the same old look of self-satisfied smugness that he usually wore.

“Aw, baby,” Francesco cooed and began to stroke the side of her face with a big meaty hand. “Don’t worry about that. Once you’re Mrs. Francesco Juliano no one will ever question you again.” He smiled at her with something like genuine affection.

“You’re right,” Elizabeth nodded, wiping her eyes dry with a gloved hand.

“Just like always,” he reminded her. “But _Mona_?”

“Yes?”

“ _You embarassed me out there_.”

The air in the room went completely still.

Francesco was still smiling but his hand was sliding down from her face to her neck. Strong fingers wrapped themselves around her throat and _squeezed_.

“ _Frankie_ -” Elizabeth gasped, her hands helplessly jumping up to grab at his wrist.

“You _embarrassed_ me. _In front of my men_. You don’t ever do that again. _Not ever._ ”

She nodded frantically, her mind in a panic.

“ _I promise_!” She gasped.

“Good girl,” Francesco loosened his grip but he didn’t let go. “You’re gonna be the perfect wife. I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too” she whispered in reply, catching her breath.

Francesco pressed his lips against hers and pushed his tongue into her mouth. Finally releasing her neck, his hand slid down to cup her breast. The pistol on her leg reminded her that she had to stop his hands from wandering. He was proceeding briskly and his kisses began to trail their way down her neck.

Glancing over his shoulder, Elizabeth could see the telephone and a plan began to formulate. If she could find out where this new dinner location was, if she could get herself alone for just a minute, there was a small chance Vito could move his men in time. It was a long shot but Elizabeth Colvin would be damned if she was going to give up so easily.

“Are we not going to Salumi’s tonight?” She asked cautiously. Francesco pulled away with an annoyed groan.

“No. _Ma_ decided she didn’t want to go there tonight.”

Clearly, however much of a good Italian boy he considered himself, Francesco considered to mother to be a bit of a pain.

“So, where _are_ we going?”

“Aunt Tara’s.”

“... Your aunt’s house?”

“Nah, she ain’t my aunt, it’s just the name of the place.”

“Oh,” said Elizabeth. Usually it wasn’t a task to make Francesco talk but where his mother was concerned he was proving tight lipped. “Have we been there before?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t it have good food?”

“It’s fine,” he shrugged, “the food’s good. Good risotto. Best meatballs in New York, too. It’s just...”

“What?”

“It’s so _plain_ ,” he whined at last. “It’s like going to someone’s house! They ain’t even got a valet! Or a doorman! Or a band! It’s no place for a dress like this,” Francesco patted her gown sadly. “It’s even in a good part of town...”

“What part of town is it in?”

“Oh... down on 3rd and 82nd,” he muttered, stroking one of the gold tassels hanging from her skirt. “Crumby part of town... Real _old country_... ain’t even got a decent sign outside.”

Elizabeth was in very real danger of pressing this issue too hard. Francesco, however, was sulking and didn’t seem to notice her unwillingness to drop the point. His focus was still on the dress that wouldn’t get the wide attention he so believed it deserved.

“Where? How do we find it if there isn’t a sign?”

“There is a small, handwritten sign... in the window next to a crumby red teapot.”

Finally. Elizabeth had what she needed.

“Well, I’m sure dinner will be great... and if not, well, we’ll just have to come home and I’ll make this night _real special_ ,” she soothed, draping her arms over his shoulders.

“Nothing is going to ruin tonight for y-” Elizabeth gasped, interrupting herself dramatically. “Frankie! Your collar is _filthy_!”

“What?!” Francesco started, looking stupidly over his shoulder in an attempt to see. “Where?!”

“Right here!” Elizabeth took the collar in her fingers. She was banking on the hope that when she had earlier wiped her eyes dry that she had gotten mascara on her gloves. Rubbing them on the crisp white cotton, she saw that she was right. “There’s something on it!”

“Well, can you get it _off_?”Francesco sounded flustered.

“I’m trying!” She promised, smudging the black around further. “It’s not coming off! Baby, you’re going to have to change...”

“Fucking _ridiculous_ ,” he seethed, ripping off his tie and storming out of the room. He slammed the door behind him. Elizabeth could hear him moving off and yelling for his much-abused butler.

Like a bolt, she was up and across the room, seizing the telephone in her hands. She stood there, foot tapping with nervous energy, waiting for someone to pick up on the other end.

_Ring_

_Ring_

“Come on, _come on_ ,” she pleaded.

_Ring_

“Smith Residence,” a familiar voice said on the other end. It was Nino, answering the phone in the same covert way they always did at the Puzo house.

“They’re moving the dinner. It’s not at Salumi’s anymore!” Elizabeth was speaking quickly, unsure how long she had.

“What?”

“They’re moving the dinner! It’s at-”

There was a shuffling on the other end of the phone and it was passed off. Elizabeth groaned in exasperation. She didn’t have time for this!

“What’s happening?”

It was Vito. Elizabeth hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted to hear his voice and it passed through her like a lungful of fresh air.

“The dinner is moving,” she repeated again, slightly calmer this time. “It’s not at Salumi’s. It’s at some place called Aunt Tara’s. 3rd and 82nd. The sign’s really small. Handwritten. And there’s a red teapot in the window. That’s all I know.”

“3rd and 82nd?” Vito asked. “That’s clear on the other side of town... There’s no time to move my guys or to make new plans. We need more time-”

The door opened.

“No, Miss Molly, I can’t make it back tonight! It’s Frankie’s _birthday_!” Her tone switched immediately, masking the conversation.

“What are you doing?” Francesco snapped and he strode into the room, still fiddling with his tie. “We have to go.”

“I just wanted to tell Miss Molly that I probably won’t be home tonight,” Elizabeth said in excuse, moving to hang the phone up, but Francesco snatched it from her.

“Of course you won’t be home tonight, you’re with me. She should know that by now,” Francesco said with a roll of the eyes as he lifted the phone to his head. “Miss Molly, she is _definitely_ not coming back tonight. See, we’re celebrating. Not only is it my birthday, but we just got _engaged_! And actually, come to think of it, my fiancée ain’t ever come back there again, alright? I’ll send a car around in the morning for her things.” And with that he hung up the phone.

“There. Now you don’t ever have to explain shit to her ever again. You’re welcome. Come _on_ ,” Francesco took her by the arm and pulled her along with him out of the room and into the foyer where the Cousins were standing around chatting, already wearing their hats and coats.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth murmured as someone- she didn’t notice who- helped her on with her white mink coat. She was looking back at the living room, at where the phone sat on the table. What on earth was Vito making of that conversation? She hoped to god he’d be able to make the necessary changes. If he couldn’t... Well...

“Alright!” Francesco declared, shrugging on his own floor length lynx fur coat. “Let’s go!”

Elizabeth walked out the door on Francesco’s arm. One way or another, she was never coming back to this house and she was damn sure _never_ going to be Mrs. Juliano. If Vito’s men couldn’t take Juliano out tonight, she would do it herself.

Or she would die trying.


	7. The Better Part of Valor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like all the characters equally.

Vito was calm; despite certain recent lapses, that was pretty par for the course. He had been born with an innate sense that the best way to get what you wanted was by watching and waiting. It wasn’t that this stillness came easily to him, more that he simply understood that it was completely necessary to his success.

Vito had been waiting a _long time_ for tonight. He had been only thirteen years old when it first occurred to him that one day he would either have to kill Juliano or else be killed himself. Now, almost twenty years later, it was something that everyone probably expected. It never escaped Vito’s notice the way everyone tensed up when he and Juliano were in the same room, or the way they’d eye the exits.

For his own part, Vito had been dodging Juliano’s assassins for years. They’d been clumsy at first but lately they’d been getting better. Smarter, faster, _quieter_. Francesco, in his impatience to be rid of his rival as his star rose higher and higher, was apparently now willing to pay through the teeth for the best hitmen. Only a few months ago one such hitman had come damn close to finishing the job and it was only the intercession of a virtual stranger had saved him.

You couldn’t call Vito a religious man. Despite being brought up in the Catholic Church, he’d stopped attending mass ages ago after his parents were gunned down. Though still just a kid when it happened, he hadn’t set foot in a church since. He knew there was no comfort in the homilies, no consolation in the Eucharist. How _could_ there be when the men in the pew in front of you, shaking your hand and wishing you peace, were the ones who had shot them. It wasn’t a divine plan that had turned him into an orphan and left him begging on the streets. There was no angel guiding his hand when he lied, stole, and beat his way to the top.

But when he remembered how Elizabeth had appeared before him that night at the theater mere moments before the assassin would have found him, how she had hid him without question, stayed with him through the danger... When he thought about the curve of her neck, the shining of her eyes, or the quiet strength of her touch...

Elizabeth wasn’t a blessing but she _was_ his deliverance. He owed her his life and he wanted her to have it, or rather, to share it with him. Vito could only hope that if- _when_ he asked, that she would feel the same.

He was, however, getting ahead of himself. The night was just beginning. His pieces were all in play, his men waiting in position to end this struggle once and for all. The only thing there was to do was wait. Vito and Nino were holed up in his office, with a few more men over in the kitchen playing cards, doing precisely that.

The phone rang. It wasn’t a surprise; regular check-ins were expected. Nino, who was the closer of the two, picked up the phone.

“Smith Residence.”

Vito wandered over to a window. It wasn’t terribly late yet, only around 6:20, but the sun had gone down ages ago. These December nights were as long as they were cold. A chill emanated from the glass panes of the window. Perhaps he should built a fire...

“ _Hey, pst_!”

Vito turned his head at the sound. Nino was holding the phone out to him, a concerned look on his face.

“It’s her,” he whispered.

Rushing over, Vito grabbed the phone in an instant.

“ _What’s happening_?”

“The dinner is moving. It’s not at Salumi’s.” Elizabeth said on the other end of the line, her voice hushed and tense. “It’s at some place called Aunt Tara’s. 3rd and 82nd. The sign’s really small. And there’s a red teapot in the window. That’s all I know.”

“3rd and 82nd?” Vito repeated, looking over at Nino who had already retrieved a large map of the city and flung it over the desk. Running his fingers down the streets, Nino quickly located the intersection and pointed it out.

Fuck.

“That’s clear on the other side of town...” Vito exchanged a look with Nino, who shook his head gravely. “There’s no time to move my guys or to make new plans. We need more _time_ -”

“ _No, Miss Molly, I_ can’t _make it back tonight! It’s Frankie’s birthday_!” Elizabeth interrupted, her tone and volume changing completely. Vito froze. Someone must have come into the room she was in. Quickly, he pressed a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone just in case, but he kept listening.

“What are you doing? We have to go!” It was Juliano, faint in the background but Vito would have known that rat’s voice anywhere.

“I just wanted to tell Miss Molly that I probably won’t be home tonight,” Elizabeth said, holding the phone away from her mouth.

“Of course you won’t be home tonight, you’re _with me_. She should know that by now!” Juliano’s voice was closer now. There was a small shuffle- was he taking the telephone from her?

“Miss Molly,” Juliano said into the telephone, “she is _definitely_ not coming back tonight. See, we’re celebrating. Not only it is my birthday, but we just got engaged. And _actually_ , come to think of it, my _fiancée_ ain’t ever coming back there again, alright? I’ll send a car around in the morning for her things.”

 _Click_.

Vito stood there still holding the phone to his ear even after Juliano had hung up, trying to process everything he had just heard. His mind was racing. Everything had fallen apart.

“They’ll never get there in time,” Nino said quietly but firmly.

Vito knew he was right. Slowly, he hung up the phone. He hadn’t noticed how hard he’d been holding onto it, but he could see now that his knuckles were completely white. Letting go, he turned away and walked back to the window. He needed a moment to think, to gather his thoughts, but time was not on his side. He put his hands over his face and breathed in deeply.

 _That goddamnsonuvabitch_.

“ _Boss_ ,” Nino pressed, “we have to call it off-”

“No,” Vito said decisively, pulling his hands away from his face. “No. The hit goes ahead.”

“What? _How_? There’s no _way_ the guys can get all the way over there, let alone get into position-”

“I will go,” Vito turned sharply and walked back over to Nino. “I will do it.”

“Wha- are you _insane_?” Nino spluttered.

“We’re a lot closer than they are. If we go _now_ , we can get there well before the end of the meal.”

“That’s not the _problem_!” Said Nino, starting to gesticulate wildly, his voice growing louder as he spoke. “Everyone in the tri-state area knows you want to kill Juliano! Everyone! The reason we had the plan set up the way we did was so that no one could trace it back to you! But if you go over there? If anyone sees you on the same _block_ when it goes down? Vito, that would be all the justification they’d need! They _would come for you_. For _all_ of us! You know that!”

“Juliano is meeting with the Assembly in two days, Nino- _TWO_ _DAYS_!” Vito shot back, “after that he will be damn near _untouchable_. Who knows how long it would be before we could get another shot at him then. Hell, the only reason we have a shot at him now is because Elizabeth is in there relaying his movements to us!”

“Okay,” yelled Nino, “so, she has to stay there a little longer!”

“ _A little longer_? Nino, it could be goddamn years! She’s been in there too long already! I’m not leaving her in there-”

“She’s _fine_! She’s a big girl,” Nino said, throwing his hands in the air. “She can take care of herself! She chose this! You made me ask her myself, remember? ‘ _Make sure_ ,’ you said! I made sure! She knew! I know you love the woman but-”

“She’s not _fine_ ,” Vito spat furiously, jamming a finger at Nino, though truthfully it wasn’t Nino he was mad at, it was himself. “She’s _not fine_. I can’t leave her in there. Not one more goddamn day.”

“ _Why_? ...Did she say something on the phone?” Nino probed, watching his friend closely. Vito pursed his lips, debating whether or not to disclose what he’d heard. Part of him was insisting that he keep this strictly business, not to make it personal. Another part of him knew that he was already far past that point. Finally, Vito relented, sighing heavily and running his hands through his hair.

“He, uh... they’re- they’re gonna get _married_ , Nino.”

Nino’s eyes almost popped out of his head.

“Wh- Married? ...Seriously? On the level?”

“I just got it straight from the horse’s mouth!” He motioned disdainfully to the phone.

“Well... I mean...” Nino said frowning pensively, sitting on the edge of the desk. “Well, _obviously_ she won’t go through with it.”

Vito laughed bitterly and shook his head.

“And you think Juliano would just let her walk away? Hell, Nino, he’d-” Vito bit his tongue. It was no good to speculate how he thought Juliano would react to being jilted; he needed to focus on the matter immediately at hand “This hit _has to happen_ and it has to happen _tonight_.”

Nino looked away but nodded his head.

“I’m going,” Vito continued, “You don’t have to come with me.”

Nino’s face twisted incredulously and he stared at his friend.

“Ex _cuse me_?” Nino asked, standing up from the desk. “ _What did you say?_ ”

“I said, you don’t hav-” Vito repeated.

“ _I heard what you said_!” Nino snapped. “But what are you, fucking _crazy_? Of course I’m _coming with you_ , you fucking _asshole_... Like I’m going to let you do this alone? Forget about it!”

Vito stifled a smile.

“Just... just give me two minutes, okay?” Nino said, rubbing the skin on his forehead. “I’m gonna give the boys downtown a call. _Maybe_ they _might_ be able to make it. You know how Angelo drives...”

Vito nodded as Nino picked up the phone. He left him to his task and instead opened the office door walked down the hall to the kitchen where four of his men were playing poker, pretending not to have heard any of the shouting. They made a show of jumping up in surprise when he walked in.

“The plan’s changed,” said Vito. “We leave in five. Make sure your guns are loaded.”

They nodded curtly and began to move. Vito returned to the office where Nino was still on the phone.

“-You heard me, I said ‘let Angelo drive!’ ...What? No, I _don’t_ care that it’s a new car!” Nino made eye contact with Vito and rolled his eyes. “Yeah... yeah... Alright!”

Vito opened the middle drawer in his desk. As usual, it’s contents were few. One Colt 1911 pistol, two clips, and a holster. Taking off his jacket, he strapped the holster on under his left arm and slipped the pistol inside. The clips he placed into the pockets of his slacks.

“They’ll get there when they can,” Nino said as he hung up the phone. “Jesus, let’s just hope Angelo’s still got that lead foot. You ready to finish this?”

Vito put his black suit jacket back on.

“ _Absolutely_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JK Nino is my favorite.


	8. His Mother’s Son

Mrs. Maria Juliano sighed heavily and straightened the already-straight place setting in front of her. A rail-thin _Siciliana_ , she was dressed in a modest dress of black- mourning for a husband 16 years dead. Though only 55, a life of sanctimonious (and often unnecessary) sacrifice made her look much older than she actually was. The grimace she habitually wore on her face didn’t help.

He was _late_. Again. She would have thought she’d taught her son, her only child, better than that. How a single man with no wife or children to contend with could be late to every meal with his own mother was beyond her.

“ _Zia Maria_ ,” said her nephew _Cristoforo_ over her shoulder, “can I get you anything? I’m sure Frank will be here soon.”

“No, no,” she said with another sigh and a dismissive wave of the hand. “No... I _am_ a bit light headed but we must wait for my son.”

Her head was fine but that wasn’t the point.

“He won’t mind if you just have a nibble of bread or a sip of wine,” he pushed but she would have none of it. It would serve her son right if his mother fainted from hunger while waiting for him.

Though Mrs. Juliano had only told Francesco about an hour ago that she wanted to eat here, she had, in fact, arranged this dinner a solid week ago. The owner was a friend of hers and she was able to get the place entirely to themselves; she hated having strangers about while she ate. All of the long rectangular tables were arranged in a sort of “U”, with a seat reserved in the middle for her son. Naturally, her own seat was directly next to this on his right side. There were exactly 30 chairs arranged along the U, most of them already occupied with various relatives, each carefully assigned according to how much she presently liked them. _Cristoforo_ , or “Chris” as absolutely everyone else in the world called him, had been placed fairly far down. The boy was an imbecile... but she liked that he was paying attention to her comfort now. Perhaps next time she would move him up a chair.

The one person amongst the guests who was not family was a young woman who Maria had brought as her special guest. Seated on what would be Francesco’s left was a prettyish Italian girl, who was shyly glancing around the room. She was Mrs. Juliano’s choice for her son’s wife- her _final_ choice. The boy was 36 today it was beyond time for him to settle down; Mrs. Juliano was done suggesting.

At 19, Giuseppina Maria del Vecchio was the youngest of five sisters who had sixteen children amongst them. She had only recently arrived from Sicily and spoke virtually no English. Shy, retiring, and devout, she was precisely the type who would never challenge her mother-in-law. She was utterly perfect. Visions of tiny Juliano _bambini_ danced through her dreams. Now if only her son would get there, the dinner could start, she could deliver the good news, and they could set about the business of begetting those babies.

“ _Teodoro_ ,” Mrs. Juliano said, grabbing the attention of a favored nephew sitting close by, “made sure they know to bring in the first course as soon as Francesco arrives.”

“ _Zia Maria_ , I’m sure they know,” Theodore answered, unhappy at being pulled from a conversation about the latest Yankees game. Maria pursed her lips into a thin line and stared at him. “I mean... yes, of course.” The boy wisely reconsidered and left the table.

Maria sighed again and readjusted the dyed black fox stole she was wearing. It was too warm in the restaurant to necessitate keeping the garment on, but she stubbornly refused to take it off. It had been a gift from her son. She wanted him to see her wearing it- partially as thanks, but partially to remind him that he should really be sending her more such gifts; the stole was almost a year old.

Mrs. Juliano was on the verge of beginning to inspect the silverware when she heard the bustle of arrival at the front door. Francesco had _finally_ arrived. Her handsome boy lit up the room, a perfect specimen of Italian manhood, resplendent in a coat of speckled lynx. He was followed by the last six cousins and-

She started at the sight of a woman on her son’s arm. The little thing was easy to miss, her silver hair peeping out from an absurdly fluffy and luxurious white mink coat that sort of melted into Francesco’s equally opulent fur. Pulling her relatively poor stole close around her, Maria seized Giuseppina by the hand and dragged her along behind her as she breezed through the relatives who had all thronged around her boy. They parted before her like the Red Sea before Moses.

“ _Francesco_ ,” she called out, holding out her arms to him, “come and give your mama a kiss!”

“Sorry we’re late, Ma” he said stepping forward and removing his hat respectfully before he kissed her. “You know how it is.”

“No,” Maria replied with a sniff, “I don’t.”

Francesco ignored her comment and instead took off his coat. He handed it off to a server and motioned for his little woman to come forward.

“Ma, I-”

“I hope you’re hungry,” Maria cut him off, turning away. She had no intention of being introduced to anyone tonight, let alone his newest plaything. “ _Teodoro_ , tell the cook to start bringing in-”

“ _Ma_ ,” Francesco persisted and tugged the woman forward, “I want you to meet-”

“Hm?” Maria turned back to him as though genuinely surprised. “Have you brought someone with you? To a _family dinner_?”

“This is Mona Lisa Dawson, Ma,” Francesco said helping the woman off with her coat.

Maria’s eyes narrowed to slits as she looked the woman over. The expensive coat, an absurd gift no doubt sexually cajoled from her son, had been one thing. What she was wearing underneath was something else completely. It was so... was so... _tight_. Maria could see the distinct outline of _nipples_ though the velvet. This “Mona Lisa” positively glittered with her son’s hard earned money; the number of gems all over her was _blinding_. There was no doubt in Maria’s mind: Francesco had brought a whore to his mother’s table.

“How... charming,” Mrs. Juliano said at length, not bothering to hide her grimace. “However, all of the chairs are spoken for, Francesco, by members of your _family_.

“They can find another chair, Ma,” he snapped as he brushed past her, pulling the prostitute with him. Instinctively, he walked to the head of the table, but he pulled out the chair next to him for the _putana_ to sit in. The chair on his right.

“That is _my_ seat, Francesco,” Maria said, aghast, but her son only shrugged.

“So you can sit on my other side,” he said, pulling out the chair on his left- Giuseppina’s chair. Maria glanced at her guest who was standing to the side, utterly unaware of what was happening. She pushed the girl into the next seat down, taking the place that had been meant for Teodoro.

“ _Go find another chair_!” She hissed at her nephew and he scurried off.

 _Chaos_ , Maria fumed as she sat, _this woman has been here for two minutes and already: chaos!_ How dare she upset her carefully balanced order.

This Mona Lisa wasn’t the first slut Francesco had messed around with- far from it. Regular reports from her many nephews usually kept Mrs. Juliano up to date on his assignations. She was well aware of his taste for trash and it didn’t surprise her; Francesco’s father had been the same way. However, this _was_ the first time he had dared to bring one to a family gathering.

Mrs Juliano sipped the wine that was poured out before her as waiters began to carry out the first course. It occurred to her that this was her fault. She hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t realized just how long she’d been hearing about this girl. The reports she’d been getting for the past several months might very well have all been about the _same_ person, not different ones like she’d assumed. Francesco usually cycled through them so quickly...

Maria craned her neck to look around her son, who was shouting a joke at someone across the room, and took another look at the woman. Nothing about this girl impressed her. Her eyes were too big, her mouth too pouty. It was plain she wasn’t Italian, but it was unclear exactly where her family _did_ come from, probably a mishmash of nobodies from god knows where. The curves of her body were downright indecent and her face was caked with that thick makeup tramps always favored. She was nothing but a piece of candy her son had been sucking on for too long.

Mona Lisa caught her staring but looked away quickly and tried to disappear into Francesco. Despite the facade of giggles and sighs and winks, Mrs. Juliano could see a definite nervousness underneath: Mona Lisa was hiding something. A whore’s secrets, however, were beneath the dignity of a lady like Mrs. Juliano. There were bigger fish to fry, or rather, bigger fish to join in holy matrimony.

“Francesco,” Maria said, laying a hand on his arm to get his attention, “I want you to meet someone.” She leaned back a little so he could see her special guest. “This lady is Giuseppina del Vecchio. She’s newly arrive from Sicily.”

Hearing her name, Giuseppina perked up and looked over at Francesco.

“ _Buona sera, signore_ ,” she said, blushing deeply. Francesco stopped shoveling food into his mouth for a moment to stare at her suspiciously.

“I thought you said this was _family only_.”

“I did,” Mrs. Juliano answered, unperturbed. 

“So... what? Is she some kind of third cousin I ain’t ever heard of?”

“No,” she continued, “she’s going to be your _wife_.”

Francesco barked out a laugh. Mona Lisa fidgeted next to him uncomfortably and tried to get up but he caught her by the wrist and pulled her back down into her chair.

“I gotta go to the bathroom, Frankie,” she whispered.

“ _Not now_ ,” he snapped before turning back to his mother. “I’m _not_ marrying some dumb broad I ain’t ever met before, Ma, so just forget about it, alright?”

“She came all this way to be your wife, Francesco.”

“Yeah, and she looks like it, too. Where’d you get her from, anyway? A pig farm? Geez, Ma! She’s a yokel!”

“Hush! Foolish boy, that’s no way to talk about your fiancée! You’ll hurt Giuseppina’s feelings!”

“ _Giuseppina_ can go _fuck_ herself,” he snarled.

“ _Cosa_?” Asked Giuseppina, who sat firmly behind the language barrier. Mrs. Juliano made no reply to the girl’s inquiry, merely swatted her away with her hand dismissively. Giuseppina slumped sulkily in her chair and began pushing around the food on her plate.

“She will be the perfect wife,” Maria continued stubbornly, “she can cook and clean and mend _and_ she will make a wonderful mother! Her sister’s already have _sixt_ -”

“I don’t give a fuck about her sisters,” Francesco said turning away from his mother.

“ _Frankie_ ,” Mona Lisa whined, once again trying to leave the table, “I gotta _go_!”

“ _Later_!” He snapped and pulled her chair closer to him. He draped an arm around her and began to nuzzle her neck, whispering into her ear. No matter how much Maria strained, she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

The dinner was passed before her in a swirl of food and conversation and laughter, but Mrs. Juliano was sensible of none of it. She seethed in her seat as her son ignored her and the woman she had chosen for him in favor of that siren. He remained physically turned away from his mother, consumed by his whore, refusing to let her leave his company at any point during the meal, unwilling to be without her for even a moment.

Maria’s rage simmered away, growing hotter by the second. How dare he question her judgment. How _dare_ he shame her so publicly. She wasn’t finished yet, though. Oh no, Mrs. Juliano bided her time, waiting for the perfect moment to unleash her wrath upon him.

The dinner was drawing to a close when an enormous tiered cake was wheeled into the room. Everyone happily sang and cheered for Francesco as he stood and blew out the 36 candles which decorated the confection- everyone except Mrs. Juliano, who sat stone-faced and sullen.

“Speech! Speech!” They called out and Francesco, only too happy to oblige, quieted them with his hands.

“Thank you, thank you, it’s so great to be gathered here with my family for my birthday. You know, it’s been a big year for me- huge! Huge year... important year. But you know what? Next year will be even better!” Francesco paused for applause and the various cousins clapped and hollered accordingly.

“You know, a lot of people say to me ‘Francesco, you’re one lucky devil!’”

There was some mild chuckling at this.

“But to those people I say, ‘no.’ I ain’t lucky. I worked hard. I earned everything I ever got. And I deserve everything I ever got.”

 _Ungrateful child_ , Mrs Juliano thought bitterly.

“But I do gotta say, I was lucky in one respect: I got a swell mother,” Francesco gestured to Maria and she looked up in surprised. The flame of her anger went out in an instant and her eyes filled with tears. “Here’s to you, Ma.”

Francesco raised his glass in a toast to her and the room followed suit.

“Oh, _mio bambino_ ,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief in a pantomime of maternal piety.

“And I wanted to let you know,” he continued, addressing her, “that I’m finally taking your advice. I’m settling down!” A buzz spread through the room but Mrs. Juliano said nothing; she had the distinct feeling she was being tricked.

“Ma, everyone, I want to introduce you to the future Mrs. Francesco Juliano: _Mona Lisa Dawson_.”

Francesco pulled Mona Lisa to her feet as the room filled with confused but enthusiastic applause. Relatives glanced back and forth from the beaming Francesco to the ashen-faced Maria, unsure from which they ought to take their cues.

Mrs. Juliano sat silently for a time as this news richocheted around in her head and stared at the couple. Only now did she see the enormous diamond engagement ring. How on earth had she missed that _boulder_? Even now, even before they were married, this woman was already throwing all Francesco’s money away on herself. Maria’s only child, her beautiful baby boy, the apple of her eye, the light of her life was going to throw himself away on this- _on this_...

Maria began to laugh, softly at first, but it rose until it was a loud, hysterical shrieking laughter. Relatives looked now at each other, even more unsure of themselves, and the clapping thinned until at last it stopped.

“You think-” Maria said through her laughter, now wiping tears of a different sort from her eyes, “you think I’m going to _let_ you marry _her_? No... no. _No_.” The laughing stopped abruptly and she rose to her feet, facing her son. “Over my cold, dead body do you marry that _putana_.”

Francesco stared at his mother in disbelief. Never in his life had she spoken to him like this.

“I have already selected your wife,” Maria continued coldly, reaching behind, seizing her pawn by the shoulder of her dress and wrenching her forward. “You are going to marry Giuseppina del Vecchio. On the first of January. I have already spoken to the priest.”

Francesco’s face was turning a brilliant shade of red.

“ _Mother_ ,” he growled, but she continued undeterred.

“I carried you in my body for nine months. I was in labor with you for _twenty-seven hours_. I raised you, bathed you, fed you, put you to sleep, woke you up, tended you when you were sick, clothed you. I am your mother and you will do as I say and I say that no son of mine is going to marry a jumped up whore from god knows where.”

“ _You’d better shut that ugly mouth of yours_ ,” her son warned, his eyes flashing. Mona Lisa put a hand on his arm, trying to soothe his rage.

“ _Frankie_ ,” she tried but Francesco’s focus was entirely on his mother. However, while he might have ignored Mona Lisa’s gesture, Maria did not.

“You get your filthy hands off my son, you unholy _witch_ ” she bellowed at Mona Lisa who shrank back from the intensity of her hatred.

“I told you to shut your goddamn mouth,” Francesco warned, his hands balling into fists, but Maria was just hitting her stride.

“Or _what_ ,” she spat mockingly. “The only thing I fear is God’s judgement on you for dirtying our family by laying with this slut! Look at her! Every man in this room, in this whole city, has probably already slept with her! She doesn’t _love_ _you_ , you _idiot_! She’s after your money, your soul, your-”

The back of Francesco’s hand struck Maria hard against the side of her face and she went sprawling onto the floor. Not a soul moved to help her as she lay there, clutching her cheek. Pain splintered through her body. Ringing filled her ears and for a few moments the room around her was a blur. It wasn’t the first time she’d been struck by a man, but it _was_ the first time she’d been struck by her son.

Francesco towered over his mother and shouted down at her, veins popping out on his forehead and neck.

“YOU DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT. DON’T NOBODY TALK TO ME LIKE THAT.”

“I WOULD RATHER SEE YOU _DEAD_ THEN MARRIED TO THAT WOMAN,” Mrs. Juliano screamed at Francesco, ignoring the throbbing pain in her jaw.

“ _YEAH_?” He sounded more like an animal than a man. Mona Lisa had latched onto his arm and was struggling to hold him back from crushing the woman.

“Frankie, _no_!” She pleaded uselessly.

Maria’s heart was thumping in her chest; she knew that look on Francesco’s face, knew it was something to fear, but the piteous intervention of that whore was the last thing in the world she wanted. Francesco surged forward and was only halted by a strange breaking of glass and a loud _**CRACK**_ like a firecracker.

No one moved... until slowly Francesco sunk down to his knees, pulling Mona Lisa down with him.

And then Mrs. Juliano saw it, a blossom of brilliant scarlet creeping out from under Francesco’s black tuxedo jacket and across his white shirt.

He had been shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Be Continued...


	9. Ain’t That A Kick In The Head, Pt. 1

_30 minutes ago_

Vito made good time traveling through the city. It was such a cold night that there were very few people on the streets, most appearing to prefer the warmth of their own homes. Had he not been in such a rush, the empty streets might have struck Vito as eerie, but as it was the only thing on his mind was the absolute necessity of killing Juliano.

Nino drove like a madman, wheels screeching loudly as they tore down the empty boulevards, ignoring every stop light and nearly killing themselves more than a few times on patches of black ice. On any other night, Vito would have permanently banished Nino from the driver’s seat for such a performance- but not _tonight_.

Vito stared out the window on the passenger side, watching the street signs tearing past. Adrenaline was already coursing through his system, but he forced himself into stillness, not allowing himself even the relief of bouncing a knee or tapping a finger. 

“We’re almost there, boss,” Nino said, finally starting to slow down.

“Alright. No more driving like a maniac. We don’t need any extra attention. I don’t know how we haven’t been flagged over by a cop already, but we can’t count on luck forever.”

“That ain’t luck,” Nino grinned, “I may have called in a bad tip about a big bank robbery on the other side of town. They probably pulled every available man from here to Jersey.”

“Good,” Vito said and then tapped on the glass on the passenger side window.“Turn here. We’ll park on the side street.”

The restaurant was just barely visible from where they stopped. Vito, Nino, and the four men in the back of of the car sat there staring out at it. The storefront was very small with only three narrow windows, all hung with curtains which blocked most of the interior from view. Still, it was possible to glimpse the outlines of a few moving figures inside and it was clear that there were more than a few.

“You think he’s wise to us?” Nino asked, “I mean... this ain’t exactly his usual digs.”

“Doubt it,” Vito answered, his voice artificially calm, “I don’t think he’d be out at all if he thought we were up to anything. You remember how quick he went to ground that time Mistretta made a move for him? Probably thinks he’s untouchable already.”

“How long’re we gonna wait for the guys?”

“As long as we can.” Vito replied, casting a critical eye over the restaurant. “Small place like this, there’s no way we get in unnoticed, even if they’re allowing the public in tonight, which by the looks of it, they probably aren’t. So, we have two options: First, we could shoot through the windows.”

“You mean the ones mostly covered by curtains?” Asked Nino. “We’d have to get pretty close to see where he is in there, otherwise we’d just be firing blind. It would take one hell of a shot to hit him... Otherwise, we’d have to spray the place to be sure of getting him and even if we brought that kind of firepower-”

“Which we didn’t,” interjected a voice from the back.

“-Even if we _did_ , I’d imagine there is probably at least one person in there you probably don’t want shot.”

“Which is why we go for option number two.”

“Which is?”

“We wait for him to leave the building and take him out on the sidewalk.”

“Ah,” said Nino with something of a frown.

It wasn’t a great plan, Vito knew. Anything out in the open on the streets could turn into a firefight pretty easily and they were clearly outnumbered.

“Well,” Nino said with a sigh, “let’s hope the boys get here.”

“Mm,” Vito murmured in agreement before looking over his shoulder at the four men sitting in the backseat. “Until then we case the area. I want one of you in each direction keeping an eye on the street. Keep out of sight but try to keep the area clear if you can. We don’t need anybody stumbling in on us. And keep your ears open.”

The men nodded and got out of the car and spread out.

“Maybe there’s a place we can hide in,” Nino suggested.

Vito didn’t reply but nodded his head and got out of the car. The cold of the night air hit his skin with a shock but he breathed it in deeply. It dulled his nerves. The time for doubt had long since passed. What he needed now was certainty. Juliano was going to die; Vito had only to make it happen. One thousand things had gone and could still go wrong, but he would not allow himself to dwell on them.

The two men pulled up their collars, tilted down their hats, and walked towards the main road and the restaurant, for all the world just looking like some men trying to escape the cold. Coming to the main street, they paused at the corner and peeked around it. Juliano had two men posted outside the place.

“They’re cold,” Vito whispered to Nino, noting the way the two men were huddled up against the side of the building and blowing on their hands.

“Yeah? I don’t blame them,” Nino said, pulling his own coat closer around him.

“They’ll duck in for warmth soon.”

“Hm,” Nino hummed, thinking as he peeked quickly around the corner again. “There’s a drug store almost directly across the road from them... if they go inside... Those places always got real cheap locks. I bet I can pick it before they get back and we can hide in there and be able to see everything.”

Barely seconds later, as if on cue, the two men disappeared inside the building. Vito and Nino left their hiding spot at the corner and were at the drug store in a moment.

“Can you do it?” Vito asked asked as Nino knelt down in front of the door.

“You kidding?” Nino answered with confidence, pulling a pick from his pocket, “a toddler could pick this lock. Give me ten seconds.”

Vito positioned himself behind Nino so as to block him from sight. The sentries would probably stay inside for several minutes, long enough to regain the feeling in their fingers or at least to grab a hot cup of coffee, but there was no use in pushing their luck. The sooner they were inside, the better.

As he stood waiting, Vito looked out across the street at the restaurant, standing with one hand surreptitiously inside his coat and resting on his pistol. From where he stood he actually had a fairly good line of sight into the restaurant. A calm, warm glow of light emanated from the windows, but inside there seemed to be some sort of commotion. Vito couldn’t say whether Juliano family dinners were usually passionate affairs or not... but it hadn’t been what he’d expected to see. Squinting, he peered closer. A small, probably older woman was gesticulating passionately. He had spent enough time around Italian mothers to recognize maternal anger even from a distance. The target of her distaste, however, what blocked from view by a curtain.

“How’s it coming?” Vito asked Nino, not taking his eyes from the window.

“I think the cold’s gumming everything up, I need a minute,” Nino answered. He removed his gloves and wrapped his bare hands around the knob, warming it up.

Inside the restaurant the scene was escalating. Vito could see just the shoulder of a very big man who appeared to be yelling back at the woman. There was no mistaking even a sliver of that silhouette. Juliano.

“Almost got it,” Nino muttered.

Through the window, Vito saw a hand lash out and strike down the woman, who fell back and out of sight. Juliano stepped forward to where the woman had been, perfectly framed between the curtains, yelling down presumably at the woman where she had fallen. Even across the street Vito could _feel_ the anger coming off Juliano. His finger twitched on his gun. He had a clear shot- god only knew if he’d get another one like this again.

“Just a second,” Nino said, the pins of the lock finally clicking into place.

Vito removed his gun from its holster but stopped short of pulling it out of his coat. A woman- Elizabeth- threw herself at Juliano, apparently trying to restrain him, but managing only to block the shot.

“Got it!” Nino said triumphantly, opening the door.

Juliano violently pushed Elizabeth out of the way.

Vito pulled his gun out and aimed it carefully at the figure across the street and through the window inside the building. It was, very literally, a long shot. He could do it. He _knew_ he could do it.

“Hey!” Nino hissed, looking back now and seeing what was happening, “Vito! What’re you-”

Vito closed one eye, exhaled slowly, and pulled the trigger. `


	10. Ain’t That A Kick In The Head, Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: this gets a little... gory

Elizabeth didn’t understand what had happened at first. Desperately trying to hold Francesco back, terrified that she was about to watch the man murder his own mother, she had almost forgotten about the hit. Despite her being a deeply unpleasant person and having spent the entire night outright calling her a whore, Elizabeth still didn’t want to see the old woman’s brains bashed out on the floor. All she knew was that one second she was holding Francesco back and the next his weight had dragged her down to the ground. He sank down first to his knees and swayed there for a moment before he turned to Elizabeth, grabbed at her strangely, and finally toppled over onto her. The enormous weight of his torso pinned her down and the heat of his body poured over her.

“Frankie!”she complained, squirming underneath him, almost panicking as a sense of suffocation pressed down on her.

Struggling mightily, Elizabeth managed to push him off so he wasn’t quite crushing her anymore. It was only then that she noticed how his heat lingered on her, only then that she realized how wet that heat was. Looking down, she saw the violent red soaking his shirt and spilling down onto her.

Mrs. Juliano screamed.

“ _FRANK’S BEEN SHOT_ ” someone shouted and the whole room finally burst into action around them as people rushed about, trying to figure out where the shot had come from or, more often, how to save their own skins.

Elizabeth and Francesco, however, remained where they were. No one thought to check on him, to see if he yet lived, let alone to prize Elizabeth out from underneath him. She lay there, staring straight up at his face. He stared back, his eyes wide in terror and pain.

“ _Mona_ ,” he whimpered, pawing at her helplessly, imploring her to do something to save him.

With effort, she managed to pull back his tuxedo jacket and found the source of the chaos which now enveloped her. Just left of center, an inch or two below his collarbone, was a bullet hole. It seemed to be about the size of a nickle, though it was bleeding so profusely it was hard to tell. Each panicked beat of his heart sent more deep red oozing out of him.

“ _Mona_!”

Looking back into his eyes, something inside of her began to _shift_. For months, Elizabeth had been hunting his man. She had been forced to become a witness to his victims and his crimes. She had become his victim herself, had borne up against his abuse and groping and disdain and had been able to do nothing more than pet and console him, unwilling to jeopardize her goal. Francesco had put a gun in her hand, had forced her to commit murder, had made her his accomplice but still she had stayed true to her purpose. She had dreamed of this moment, been working towards it, for so long...

Now here it was...

She looked at the pathetic, whimpering, dying man on top of her and she was _happy_.

Elizabeth’s hatred for this man had grown and grown and grown until it was a hurricane howling in the night. She had shut and barred the door to that wind in order to finish her work... but now? Now she threw open the door inside herself and let the hurricane tear it off its hinges. There was no going back now and _thank god_ for that.

A vicious smile spread across her face.

“ _Happy birthday, Frankie, baby_ ,” she hissed.

Despite the awkward weight of the man on top of her, she managed to rip the engagement ring off her finger.

“ _You_ finally _got what you deserved_!”

Embracing an overwhelming urge to inflict pain, she jammed the gaudy ring _into_ the bullet hole. Francesco tried to scream but could only gag in agony. Blood gushed out over her hand as she pushed the bauble in as far as she could, stabbing it through flesh and sinew and grazing against bone until she could push it no further. His body convulsed, shaking terribly from pain and shock, and his eyes rolled back wildly until only the whites were visible. Elizabeth stared at him, almost mesmerized, drinking in the visible suffering.

Francesco’s eyes had started to glaze over when suddenly they snapped forward and refocused on her face. Elizabeth could see comprehension on his face. It was as though the pain had finally jammed all the puzzle pieces together in his brain. That understanding snapped in a second into rage.

She’d seen him angry a hundred times before but this was different. Francesco no longer looked _human_. Veins popped out across his face and neck. His mouth stretched almost unnaturally into a gaping maw and a primordial howl erupted from him. Spittle flecked her face and the blood continued to pour. Trying to tear her apart, his hands began to claw at her furiously, ripping handfuls of trim and lace from her dress and leaving deep scratches on her skin.

And then, suddenly, Francesco was lifted off her.

It had finally occurred to the Juliano clan that they should tend their fallen leader. Seven cousins picked him up and dragged him away kicking and screaming and snarling and still grabbing at her. Mrs. Juliano flew past Elizabeth to her son, wailing like a ghost. Francesco completely disappeared from sight under this onslaught of obsequious concern.

Elizabeth found herself unexpectedly free. She struggled to right herself but both she and the linoleum were slick with blood. With considerable effort she managed to push herself along the ground until her back was against a wall. Finally looking around herself, Elizabeth surveyed the chaos. No one seemed to pay her the least mind, too busy shouting for guns or help or asking god to save them. Elizabeth realized, as she sat surveying them, that she had half expected to die herself, crushed under Francesco’s bloated corpse. And yet, she wasn’t dead; the banging of her heart in her chest was testament to that.

The hit had gone completely wrong, she thought as her fury settled into surprise- or was it shock? Nothing had gone to plan. The location had changed at the last minute. She’d never been able to plant the gun, which was still strapped securely to her leg. If the hit man had even made it to the new location in time, he had never been allowed into the private event.

And yet... and _yet_...

Elizabeth looked over the screaming and panicking Julianos with some satisfaction, her eyes wandering the room until she noticed the neat little bullet hole in the window. Without a second thought Elizabeth finally picked herself off the ground and walked out the front door of the restaurant.

She did not go unnoticed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued


	11. Ain’t That A Kick In The Head, Pt. 3

“ _The fuck are you doing?!_ ” Nino hissed, grabbing Vito and pulling him behind a car for cover before pulling his own gun out of his coat.

“I had a shot so I took it,” Vito answered calmly, peering out from behind the car and trying to see if he’d taken Juliano down. The man was no longer visible in the window but there was a strange, unsettling stillness in the air.

“... Why is it so quiet? Didn’t they _notice_?” Nino asked, poking his head out as well. The two men frowned out at the building, staring, waiting, and a veil of soft white flurries began to fall around them. The whole scene was eerily peaceful; silence was _not_ the usual reaction to being shot.

After what seemed like an eternity, a scream finally cut through the quiet, quickly followed by a horde of other panicked voices. Nino and Vito both breathed out, their shoulders relaxing.

“That’s better,” Nino mumbled, checking his gun’s clip casually. “Fucking morons... leave it to the Julianos not to realize they been hit.”

Vito shushed him and kept watching. The scene inside was chaotic and he couldn’t tell whether or not Francesco had been taken completely out. He was confident that he had been at least hit but Vito couldn’t leave until he was sure he was dead.

The restaurant’s front door opened. They’d been expecting a chain of thugs to stream out, so they were surprised when it was Elizabeth who stepped out. The sight of her was far from a relief, however. She was _covered_ in thick, almost black blood which ran down her torso and splotched her shoulders. For a moment Vito panicked, feeling like the air had been kicked out of him. Had he shot _her_ somehow instead? But it became quickly apparent from the way she was walking that she was unhurt.

Vito stood up and called out to her.

“Elizabeth!”

She paused at the sound of his voice, just as she was stepping off the sidewalk and into the street. Their eyes met.

The door behind Elizabeth kicked open with a bang and Francesco Juliano came barreling out after her. Any doubt that he had been shot completely vanished. The white shirt of his tuxedo was dyed almost entirely the same dark red that coated Elizabeth and there was a disturbing staggering limp to his gait. Vito could see that he had shot him precisely where he’d meant to, the middle of his chest, but _somehow_ the man was still on his feet and moving _fast_.

Before either he or Elizabeth could react, Juliano had already charged up to her, siezed a fistful of her hair, jerking her sharply back against him. She screamed in pain and shock, her hands jumping up to her scalp, but he forced her down onto her knees.

“FUCKING- YOU FUCKING- YOU- ME-” he spluttered, unable to articulate his thoughts. His meaning, however, was clear enough as he jammed the barrel of a gun against her skull. Vito froze, not wanting to startle Juliano into pulling the trigger, knowing his presence would be the _last_ thing to stay his hand.

People began to stream out of the building behind him, twelve burly looking men, led by the old woman Vito had seen earlier, who he now recognized to be Mrs. Juliano. Somehow none of them noticed him standing across the street, still mostly hidden by the car.

“KILL HER, FRANCESCO,” Juliano’s mother screamed as she burst outside. She ran up to her son, grabbing onto his arm but he pushed her away sharply.

“SHUT UP,” he snarled at the old woman but she was undeterred and sprung right back. She looked every bit as wild and crazed as her son and even her relatives seemed to be trying to shrink away from her.

“WHAT KIND MAN-” she started but she never finished the thought. Without hesitation Francesco raised the gun from Elizabeth’s head and shot his mother point blank in her face. Her body sank to the floor in a gory mess. The act shocked even the toadies who had followed their boss outside. They all jumped back, staring at the body in horror. One of them vomited before retreating into the restaurant. Two others simply turned tail and ran off down the street.

“ _DON’T TELL ME WHAT- DON’T_ -,” Juliano bellowed at his mother’s bloodied corpse before he pressing the gun back into Elizabeth’s head. Vito’s fingers twitched; he couldn’t stay silent any more.

“ _No_!” Nino whispered, trying vainly to keep him back behind the car.

“Juliano!” Vito called out, stepping boldly out into the middle of the street, his gun raised. The man in front of him was unraveling and while he knew his presence wouldn’t _help_ , he didn’t see how it could make things _worse_ at this point.

Cursing, Nino followed his lead, stepping out around the other side of the car, his weapon raised as well. The few of the Julianos with weapons raised them, the other retreated back inside so that there were only five men still with him. Francesco squinted through the dark at him. It took him a second but when he realized who he was looking at his eyes went wide and the shock seemed almost to calm him somewhat.

“ _Puzo_...” he breathed. “You... _you_.” His eyes traveled down to Elizabeth. “ _You and_...”

“Let her go, Frank,” Vito said firmly, advancing into the street.

“STOP! Not another _fucking step_!” Juliano commanded and tugged sharply at Elizabeth’s head, making her cry out. Vito froze.

“It’s _over_ ,” he said.

“Over?” Juliano asked, struggling to speak normally through heavy breaths. “It ain’t _over._ Nah, it’s just- just getting _started_. Lower your guns- both of you!”

When Vito didn’t immediately comply, Juliano pushed the gun harder against Elizabeth’s head.

“I’LL BLOW HER FUCKING BRAINS OUT. LOWER YOUR GUNS.”

Glancing down at Elizabeth, Vito saw that she was squirming there, but not to free herself. She was trying to get her hand under her skirt. Her eyes met his and stared back with a dogged determination. There was some plan formulating in her brain and though he couldn’t tell what it was, he could guess that his part was to keep Juliano talking and distracted. Vito lowered his weapon, knowing Nino would do the same behind him.

“Alright,” Vito said calmly, looking back at Juliano, “alright. Whatever you want, Frank.”

The man was bleeding to death and though an ordinary man would have lost consciousness ages ago, Francesco was not an ordinary man. Something inside was pushing him forward regardless of his body’s failing state. If Vito could only keep him talking, perhaps he could simply wait him out.

“Guess you finally got the drop on me,” Vito said, trying to lighten Francesco’s black mood.

“Shoulda killed you ages ago,” Juliano growled. “Shoulda _known_... Goddamn slut. How long you been sniffing around her?”

Vito didn’t answer rather than say something that might set Francesco off, but he had to literally bite his tongue to stop himself. Juliano saw this and laughed.

“What? Roped you in, too, huh?” Francesco was grinning devilishly now, though he had to pause for breath. “Maybe Ma was right... I wonder how many of us have been inside this cunt.”

Francesco gave her scalp a sharp jerk and she cried out in pain.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Vito warned, his jaw clenching.

Juliano laughed and gave her head another rough shake.

“ _Don’t do that_ ,” Vito warned but Juliano only gave a strange, gasping laugh.

“Or what? You’ll shoot me again? You’ll both... you’ll both be dead long before you do” Juliano stopping as he spoke to gasp for air. His body was beginning to shut down. “You think I’ll just let you two... waltz off? No... This whore is going to die, Puzo... and so are you.”

Juliano’s speech was slowing noticeably and his skin was disturbingly pale. Behind him, his men looked concerned, though more for themselves than their boss; most of them were trying to quietly back further and further away.

“You already killed one woman tonight, Frank,” Vito said, nodding to Mrs. Juliano’s bloodied corpse.

“Yeah, well, she got... she got what she...” Juliano slurred, swaying slightly.

“Let the girl go. You don’t want her. You want me.”

Vito took a step forward but Juliano yanked on Elizabeth’s scalp again.

“ _You don’t fucking move, asshole,”_ he snapped. “You... you think I gotta choose? No, Puzo, I got you _both_. And I’m... I’m gonna _keep you both_. Bury you in the same ditch... Make pissing on you both that much easier.”

Vito stopped, his eyes darting down to Elizabeth. She wasn’t rifling through her skirts anymore, but one of her hands was concealed underneath. Her eyes were fixed on him.

“Won’t you miss your old rival?” Vito asked, looking back at Juliano, determined to keep him talking.

“Miss _you_? Yeah...” Francesco was gasping for breath but didn’t seem to care. “Yeah, I’ll throw you a going away party... A real big funeral...”

“You don’t look so good, Frank.”

“I’m still... still...,” Francesco shook his head, as though trying to shake off death. “Never been better... I got a... a gun in my hand.”

“You should go to the hospital, don’t you think? You’re bleeding to death.”

“Nah,” Juliano laughed deliriously, and the thought of death seemed to pull him back together somehow. “I ain’t _dying_. _I ain’t dying_. You already shot me... and I’m still here! You can’t kill _me_ , Puzo. I’m _Francesco fucking Juliano, I’m goddamn immortal_ -”

 **BANG**.

Elizabeth, moving so quickly that Vito had barely even saw it, had pulled the pistol out from her her skirt, raised it directly above her head, and shot Juliano through the bottom on his jaw. Blood erupted in a fountain from the top of his skull as the bullet ripped straight through his head. The body collapsed heavily onto the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Vito didn’t waste a moment, diving forward to grab Elizabeth and shooting at the remaining men as he did. Nino joined in immediately, lending him covering fire, shooting one of Francesco’s men dead and sending the other four scrambling to take cover back in the restaurant. Elizabeth jumped forward to meet Vito in the middle and he seized her, half-dragging and half-carrying her across the street to take cover behind the car with Nino following closely. Behind them the windows of the restaurant shattered as the remaining Julianos dug in for a fight. Bullets began to fly in their direction just as they made it safely behind the car.

Vito released Elizabeth and spun back around, peeking out from behind the car to fire a shot at the windows.

“ _Shit_ ,” he cursed, pulling back as a bullet whizzed past his head, missing him by inches. Out of the corner of his eye he could the men he’d sent down the street earlier running towards them but he waved them off. They’d only get shot if they came closer. The men disappeared down the side streets leaving Vito, Nino, and Elizabeth on their own.

He looked down at the pistol in his hand. There were more bullets in his pockets, but the Julianos had them out numbered, out positioned, and for all they knew, out armed as well. They wouldn’t need to be expert marksmen to take them out; though the Julianos were unloading plenty of ammunition on the car serving as their cover, all they really had to do was wait. There was no other cover between them and the street corner and even running into the storefront Nino had opened up would leave them exposed. The night was bitterly cold and while he didn’t believe they’d be there long enough to start actually losing fingers, he had already lost the feeling in his toes. Vito knew they couldn’t stay there forever. Even if the cold and bullets didn’t get them, the sounds of fighting had echoed down the empty streets. Most of these shops had apartments on top, and he’d noticed more than a few curious faces peeking cautiously out. It was only a matter of time before the police finally caught wind and sent men- men who mostly took money from the Juliano family.

Vito looked over at Elizabeth who was sitting next to him, her back up against the car. Blood covered her almost completely now. She had already been fairly well covered when she left the restaurant, but now the rest of her, her face and hair particularly, was decorated by the fine spray that had showered her only moments ago. The gun was still clutched tightly in her hand and she was beginning to shake horribly.

Vito took off his coat and wrapped it around her but she hardly reacted; she didn’t even look at him. Gently, he pulled her fingers off the gun.

“Keep them off us, Nino,” he instructed calmly, handing the gun to him. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and started to wipe the blood off her face.At length, she finally turned her large grey eyes up to look at him.

“Is... _is he dead_?” She whispered.

Vito nodded. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut, pulled her knees up to her chest, and buried her face in them.

Across the street the Julianos kept firing, shooting out every window of the car and the stores around them, deflating all the tires, unloading as though their ammunition would never run out. Nino, however, had _stopped_ firing. Looking up, Vito noticed that Nino was squinting down the street, craning his neck to peer into the distance. There were two small lights visible in the darkness. Headlights. The two men exchanged a look. There was no telling from that distance to whom those headlights belonged.

The headlights grew in size as the they watched it coming down the street towards them.

“Could it-”

But even as Nino spoke the car turned off the road and the headlights disappeared. Vito noticed then that he’d been holding his breath.

“Damn,” Nino muttered before reaching around the car to fire off a quick shot. “I thought maybe...”

“I doubt even Angelo could have gotten here that fast-” Vito started but a screech of rubber tires taking a hard turn cut him off.

Peeling into sight like a bat out of hell, a large black sedan swung around the corner and onto the main road. Three men clung to the sides of the car riding the running boards, each toting a tommy gun. Even had he been unable to recognize the faces of his men, no one else in New York City drove like that. The cavalry had come.

With an earsplitting screech, Angelo stomped on the brake, the car slid to a halt directly in front of the restaurant, and the men immediately began to unload their weapons into restaurant. The Julianos ceased firing as they dove for cover. Vito scooped Elizabeth up into his arms and he and Nino sprinted for the corner. Rounding it, they found that the men he had waved away earlier had the car started and waiting for them. As gently as he could manage, Vito placed Elizabeth inside and then turned back to his men.

“You go,” Nino insisted, reloading his gun, “I’ll stay and help them clean up.”

“Fine,” Vito said, looking back down he street towards the restaurant, “make it quick. We’re going to ground.”

Nino nodded curtly and headed back down the street, taking the men with him. Vito got into the running car and, turning it around on the street, sped away.

Elizabeth didn’t say anything as they drove, intermittently gazing out the passenger side window and using his handkerchief to try to wipe away blood from her skin. She would speak when she was ready, he knew, but it still took a concerted effort not to keep looking over at her, not to reach out and take her hand. But he let her alone and they drove silently through the city through as the flurries continued to fall.

“Where are we going?” Elizabeth asked finally. Her voice was very quiet and remarkably calm, all things considered.

“We’re leaving the city,” Vito answered, relieved that she had finally spoken.“We’re going to stop by the home of an associate just long enough to get you a change of clothes-” Vito could see her tug the coat more tightly up around her neck out of the corner of his eye. “And then we’re going to a safe house outside the city. We need to lay low for a few days.”

Elizabeth nodded, still looking away out the window.

“And Nino? Your men?”

“They’ll follow us soon. We have some standard protocols in place, in case we-” Vito stopped, considering his choice of words, “well, just in case. A few ends to quickly tie off before we go to ground. Nino will make sure my sister is safe, that kind of thing.”

She didn’t reply to this and they drove on in silence for a few minutes longer.

“Then what?”

“Hm?” Vito asked, glancing over at her. She was looking at him now, and he felt a strange rush of heat- a blush- wash over his face. He looked away quickly, concentrating on the road.

“Well...” Vito tried to answer her question but the words caught in his throat and it took him a few moments to collect himself enough to continue. “I’m going to come back to the city then. The Assembly will meet and I need to be there. But... well...” Vito’s black gloved hands tightened around the steering wheel, trying to steel himself. 

They’d never really spoken about what they’d do _after._ Sure, he’d been entertaining some hopes, some dreams, but... how many times had her life been in danger tonight alone? This wasn’t her city. This wasn’t her world. Tonight had shown her the worst of his life in the same moment that it had set her free. Vito was no fool; who on earth would stay after everything she had been through? He wanted her, wanted her so badly it hurt, but more than anything he wanted her have a life where she was happy and safe. It didn’t matter so much if he wasn’t a part of it. He wouldn’t force her to remain in this underworld forever. Perhaps he had entertained thoughts of her staying with him, allowed himself to dream. But seeing her like this tonight... she didn’t belong here. So he would make it easy for her to leave, easy enough that she wouldn’t need to say a single word that might break his heart.

“I will get you anywhere you want to go. You... you have family in Kentucky, right? We can get you there and make sure no one follows.”

A traffic light up ahead turned red and the car came to a rolling stop. The two of them sat there, staring up at the light, in the only car on the road for blocks. Vito’s eyes kept trying to fill with tears but he blinked them back furiously.

“... You’re... you’re sending me away?” Elizabeth asked, her voice a whisper.

“The job’s done,” said Vito, his throat suddenly sore.

Elizabeth didn’t say anything and Vito felt it was a small mercy. He didn’t want her to thank him, to say she’d always remember him or that she’d miss him. A strong man, Vito could take a lot but he didn’t think he could take that. _This is how it has to be_ , he told himself and stared at the red light until it burned holes in his retina.

“No.”

Her voice, suddenly sharp, startled him.

“Elizabeth-”

“ _No_ ,” she repeated, “the job’s not done.”

“But Juliano-”

“The world is _full_ of Julianos. I know that now. I worked too hard to get this far... _we_ worked too hard,” Elizabeth’s voice betrayed her crying. “We... I thought it was _we_... But now _you_ want me to go.”

Vito squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will the tears from falling but he could feel them streaking hotly down his face.

“I don’t _want_ you to go. It’s not about what I want,” Vito insisted.

“And me? What about what _I_ want?” She asked and Vito found himself unable to answer.

“I know what you’re doing,” she continued, her voice heavy, “but it won’t work. I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving you. I don’t care what you do.”

“I... I want you to be _happy_ ,” Vito said, struggling to control the emotion in his voice.

“Leaving you won’t make me _happy_. You once wanted to know if I was sure,” Elizabeth whispered through her tears and Vito felt her hand take hold of his where it gripped the steering wheel. “I’m sure.”

Vito opened his eyes and took her hand in his, staring at it. Most of the blood had been wiped off, but around her nails still remained a thin line of dried blood.

“ _You once promised you’d never leave me_ ,” she reminded him gently, “ _please don’t make_ me _leave_ you.”

Vito raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to be _safe_ ,” Elizabeth said, moving up close to him. “I want to be with _you_.”

With her other hand, she turned his face to look at her and began to softly wipe away his tears. Vito looked into her eyes and knew then that he would never be able to let her go as long as he lived. Nodding his head, he kissed her hand again. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against his and they sat there like that until a flash of green caught their eye.

The traffic light had finally turned.

“We should probably go,” Vito said, laughing sheepishly.

“I would _really_ like to change clothes,” Elizabeth admitted.

“Alright,” Vito agreed, putting one hand back on the steering wheel, thoughhe laced the fingers of the other through her own and held it there between them. “Let’s go.”


	12. Epilogue: The Mysterious Mrs. Rooster

Edmund Davis sighed, spinning around lazily in his office chair. The typewriter on his desk sat there, taunting him with a completely blank sheet of paper. He was working on a stupid piece of fluff article about some over-sensationalized Broadway show- or rather, he was _supposed_ to be working on it. The words, however, were proving elusive. Writer’s block was nothing new to the newspaper man, of course, and so in an effort of break it he had developed a number of tricks to try to provoke the literary muse. Sometimes he would think about every great play he’d ever seen at Yankee Stadium. Sometimes inspiration could be found in just thinking about his favorite cocktails. Usually, however, he just thought about every girl he’d ever liked.

It was an ever-growing list; Mr. Davis was not exactly careful with his affections. It wasn’t, of course, a list of every girl he’d ever _loved,_ just every girl who’d ever so much as caught his fancy.

As he spun slowly around in his leather chair, a bevy of pretty faces floated through his mind. He remembered Sharon’s pretty green eyes, Maxime’s cute little accent, and Loretta’s adorable little nose. There was Adelaide’s shiny hair, Emily with her strangely sexy feet, and Mara whose curves went on for days. There was Meredith and Suzanne and Ruth and Daisy and Lucy and that _other_ Lucy and-

Edmund stopped spinning as one face popped into his head.

Elizabeth.

Elizabeth Colvin.

What ever happened to her?

It had been about a year and a half since she’d abruptly quit her job at the paper and disappeared without so much as a goodbye. It had taken Edmund a while to get over that one, to stop looking for her face everywhere he went. Elizabeth was pretty but so was every other girl he’d liked, however she was something more. She’d had a fire, a tenacity that had captivated him. She had also been the only girl to ever turn him down, which probably had no small amount to do with his longing.

 _Shame_ , he thought with a sigh, _that one coulda gone somewhere._

His phone rang sharply, waking him up from his reverie.

“Yes?” He said, picking it up.

“There’s a lady here to see you, Mr. Davis” said his new secretary, Miss Walton.

“Oh?” Edmund asked, his tone distinctly bored. It was nothing new; ladies were always coming to see him.

“Mhmmm. A _married_ lady.”

That wasn’t particularly new either.

“And? Did she give a name?”

“Uh...”

Edmund rolled his eyes. His secretary was the daughter of Richard Walton, a slightly slimy former mayoral aid to whom Edmund had owed about a hundred favors. And though the man could have asked for, and received, really _anything in the world_ , he had decided to use them all in begging a job for a daughter who really didn’t want to work.

“Miss Walton, you _need_ to get _names_.”

“I did!” She insisted and Edmund could hear the pout in her voice. “It was Mrs.... uh, Mrs. Poozer? Roozer? No, that can’t be right... um ...Mrs. Rooster! Yes. Mrs. Rooster to see you.”

“Mrs. _Rooster_?” Edmund asked, doubting very much that a person by the name existed. “Did she say _why_ she wanted to see me?”

“Something about a tip.”

Edmund’s ears perked. The word “tip” was the one word in the English language that was guaranteed to spark his interest.

“Well, why didn’t you say so,” Edmund said, leaning back in his chair. “Send her in.”

“Oh, she’s not here.”

Edmund smacked his hand to his forehead, cursing the day he first met Robert Walton.

“ _So she’s_ not _here to see me_ ,” Edmund said through gritted teeth.

“She is,” Miss Walton insisted, “she’s just not _here_.”

Edmund waited for her to continue but Miss Walton did not choose to elaborate.

“Well, did she make an _appointment_?”

“No, she said to meet her.”

“ _Where_ , Miss Walton?”

“At the deli down the street.”

“ _When_?” Edmund asked, peering out his office window at the storefront down the way with its little blue awning.

“Said she’d wait until 1:30.”

Edmund looked at the clock on his desk. It was 1:26.

“ _What_? She said she’d wait _four_ _minutes_?” He asked incredulously.

“Well, no,” Miss Walton said haughtily “she said she’d wait _an hour_ but she called a while ago-”

Edmund slammed down the phone, grabbed his camel overcoat, and flew out the door. Bypassing the elevator in the name of speed, he practically leapt down the seven flights of stairs and was out the door and across the street before Miss Walton even looked up from her desk. He was still only holding his coat when he burst, panting, through the deli’s door. The small shop was empty apart from the man at the counter, who was familiar enough with Edmund to not be surprised by him anymore, and a woman seated alone along the far wall. Dressed in a smart dark purple skirt suit, she was smiling at him warmly.

“Mr. Davis,” her familiar voice said in greeting.

Edmund stared openly at her, mouth agape.

“Miss _Colvin_?”

“Mrs. Puzo,” she corrected gently. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Uh... yeah, just black,” he said, addressing the man at the counter as he walked over to join her. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her; something had _changed_ about her, something profound but indefinable. The investigatory journalist in him _demanded_ to understand every detail of her sudden appearance.

“Mrs? I suppose congratulations are in order,” he said regaining some of his composure, or at least affecting to. He studied her narrowly. Her clothing was very fine, made from expensive fabrics, though not at all showy. It was a little more mature than what she had formerly been in the habit of wearing but somehow a lot sexier as well. That kind of sophistication didn’t come cheap.

“Thank you,” she said with a nod.

“How long?”

“Oh, about six months now.”

“New Year’s Day Wedding?”

“Just about.”

“Hmm,” Edmund hummed, as he received his coffee. “So... he’s not the reason you left, is he?”

“No,” Elizabeth said, resting her chin on her hand, slowly stirring her coffee with the other. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“No, I suppose you would have _told me_ if it had just been a romance you were after.”

“I _am_ sorry about that, Edmund,” she said softly and he could tell by the look in her eyes that she meant it.

“I was worried about you, you know. Still am, I suppose.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, and reaching across the table, she patted his hand sympathetically. When he tried to hold her hand, however, it was quickly withdrawn.

“Well, my secretary promised me a Mrs. _Rooster_ ,” Edmund said, recovering almost immediately. “Which is clearly not the case, but she also mentioned a _tip_.”

“One out of two isn’t so bad, I suppose,” said Elizabeth, “I do have something for you but it’s better than just a tip.”

“Oh?” Edmund said, his tone flirtatious, “what’s better than _just a tip_?”

“The promise of a steady stream of information. You see, Mr. Davis, when I left it was to...” she paused, considering her words, “pursue a line of inquiry which we had been chasing for a while.”

“Ah,” Edmund said, his imagination vividly filling in the missing details of her exit. “As I recall, a few months ago a _person of interest_ in all that went, hm, to a _farm upstate_ , shall we say?”

“Oh?” Elizabeth sipped her coffee nonchalantly.

“Elizabeth,” he said, lowering his voice, “that wasn’t...?”

“Hm? I wouldn’t worry about that,” she said, waving her hand in the air as though dismissing the thought from the room. “But listen,” her voice lowered as she leaned forward conspiratorially. “That _line of inquiry_ from earlier? It didn’t stop there.”

“What do you mean?” He asked and in reply she opened a large black clutch bag which had been sitting on her lap. She took out a few folded pages and handed them to Edmund, who read over them curiously. From the brief perusal, he gathered that she had enough information to indite several people with connections to the mayor’s office on a variety on unseemly charges.

“I suppose you want me to publish this?” Edmund asked, looking up at her over the top of the papers. He was pleased to find that she was watching him closely.

“I confess, that is precisely my hope.”

“And what makes you think any new articles would meet with any more success than the last few tries you made?”

“I understand their world better now,” Elizabeth said with a strange glint in her eye. “I know who knows who, and what’s more than, I know how _exactly_ how far they’ll extend their necks to protect everyone else in this game. I know _how_ they’re all connected and I know that they’re all set up like dominos. All we have to do is make sure we expose them out in the _right_ _order_ and they’ll all come tumbling down.”

“And... you know that order?

Elizabeth smiled and tapped the papers.

“Start here.”

“Miss Co- Mrs. Puzo” Edmund corrected himself as he laid the papers on the table. He was frowning but that was just a cover; inside he was positively giddy. Information like this didn’t just land on your lap every day of the week and honestly it had been _ages_ since he’d gotten a decent scoop and the quality of his paper was starting to suffer. But now? Visions of Pulitzers danced through his head. Still, he had been in the game too long to simply trust any old wooden horse that rolled up the gates of his paper. No, it was time to peek inside.

“ _Liz_ ,” he said sternly, “we were colleagues once and, I think, friends, too, so I’m going to be blunt-”

“Please,” Elizabeth encouraged, folding her hands in her lap and preparing herself for the coming cross-examination. Clearly, she had been expecting this; clearly the newspaper woman was not entirely gone and it _thrilled_ Edmund.

“You’ve been gone for _over_ a year. You don’t tell me where you went, but between all of this, I have my guesses and while it does suggest that your information might be credible-“

“It _is_ credible.”

“You know as well as I do that if I go ahead and publish, my sources will be the first thing to be questioned.”

“You are not required to name your sources, Edmund. Everyone knows that. Freedom of the press is guaranteed in the Constitution.”

“True,” he conceded, “but it doesn’t mean they won’t ask. And it won’t look so good to have an anonymous source going after these people. I mean, some of these guys you’ve named, they’re respected men,” Edmund picked up the list and pointed out a name. “I mean, _Robert Walton_? I know the man-”

“Do you?” Elizabeth asked, cutting him off. “Do you _really_ know him? Because _I_ do and I can tell you that he is not as harmless as he might seem.”

“Listen, Lizzie, I believe you, but I need to know: this, all of _this_ -” Edmund motioned to the shop, the paper, to her, “all of this _reeks_ of the mafia. And if I had to guess? I’d say that your _new husband does, too_.”

Edmund was purposefully pushing her but she didn’t so much as flinch.

“This is _not_ about my husband’s business or eliminating his competition,” Elizabeth said passionately, that old fire he’d missed so much shining through. “It’s not about deflecting blame, either. If _he_ did _any_ of the things I am accusing these men of, I would turn him in _myself_ in an instant. This is about justice, Edmund. It is about justice for those who have been ignored and stepped on and taken advantage of for ages.”

“So why did you leave the paper,” Edmund asked, finally voicing the question that had been dogging him ever since she left.

“It was the only way,” she said.

“ _Way to what_?” Edmund demanded.

Elizabeth frowned at him for a moment, fidgeting absentmindedly with the gold wedding band she wore.

“That _line of inquiry_ we were talking about?” She whispered finally. “You’re right. I’m the one who _snipped that thread_ because there was _no other way and you know it._ But now that he’s gone, the rest of that wall has become awfully shaky. It’s vulnerable if you only know where and when the pull out the bricks.”

“You’re mixing your metaphors,” Edmund said, trying to sound clever even as he processed everything she was saying.

“We can do this _right_ ,” Elizabeth continued, ignoring his comment, “but I need your help. And frankly, you need _mine_. I’ve been reading your paper lately and- ‘ _101 Magical Mocktails You Must Try_ ’? Really? Not exactly groundbreaking journalism, Eddie.”

“It’s been slow lately,” Edmund grumbled.

“Clearly,” Elizabeth said, but she was smiling again

“Well,” Edmund said, folding his arms and taking great pains to sound reluctant despite the fact that he truly could not _wait_ to get started. “I’ll need more than just this.”

“Naturally,” Elizabeth agreed, her smile widening. “But that should be enough to start with.”

“So when do we meet again?” Edmund asked eagerly, folding the papers and sliding them into an interior pocket in his suit jacket. He really did want more information but now that she was back in his life, Edmund rather wanted to keep her there. “Perhaps over dinner next time-”

“I’ve become very fond of delis, Edmund, and I’m determined to see who has the best pastrami on rye in the city. So I think perhaps lunch every other week on Tuesday’s. I’ll call you and tell you where. Somewhere different every week.”

Edmund grinned. It wasn’t a dinner date, but it wasn’t nothing.

“I like it,” he said, “but if we’re going to be _secretive_ I can’t just call you Mrs. Puzo. You’re going to need a code name. _Sweetie Pie_ , perhaps?”

“Oh, I think we already have one.”

“We do?”

“I think ‘Mrs. Rooster’ will do just fine.”

Edmund chuckled and behind him the light tinkling of a bell indicated that someone else had entered the deli. He saw Elizabeth look up and saw, with dismay, the way her face lit up.

“I’m afraid I have to leave, Mr. Davis,” Elizabeth said, rising from the table, “my ride is here.”

Edmund stood up, too, and turned to see a man walking towards them who could really only be described as tall, dark, handsome, and intimidating. The man wore an impeccably tailored grey suit under an impeccably tailored black overcoat and he took off his black fedora as he approached.

“Ready to go?” He asked Elizabeth in a rather heavy accent that spoke volumes about his life growing up on some of the rougher streets of New York.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, talking his arm and Edmund noted grimly how well these two looked together. “But first, I’d like you to meet my associate, Edmund Davis.”

Edmund stepped forward and shook the man’s black gloved hand, each squeezing perhaps slightly harder than was strictly necessary as they quickly sized each other up.

“Mr. Rooster, I presume?” Edmund asked cheekily, despite the sinking feeling that this man could eat him for breakfast.

Mr. Puzo raised an eyebrow and looked at his wife, who smiled and shook her head.

“I’ll tell you later,” she said.

“What line of business are you in?” Edmund inquired.

“This and that.” Mr. Puzo replied shortly.

“Ah, yes. Of course.”

 _So Mr. Puzo’s the quiet type_ , Edmund thought. He _hated_ the quiet type.

”We’ll start next Tuesday, I think,” said Elizabeth, ending the interview. “Goodbye, Edmund.”

“Liz,” he said in farewell, nodding his head.

Mr. Puzo replaced his hat, nodded his head in return, and left the deli with his wife on his arm.

Edmund stood there, hands in his pockets, looking at the door they had exited out of for several seconds before he whistled lowly to himself. It wasn’t every day that the one that got away came back into your life. It wasn’t every day that she gave you information that could very well earn you a spot in the journalism pantheon. And it wasn’t every day that she introduced you to her Greek god of a husband.

Ah well.

Such was life.

Leaving a few coins on the table, Edmund left the deli and slowly meandered his way back to his office. It did not escape his notice that Miss Walton was not at her desk as he walked past, which was probably for the best. He’d have to figure that one out later.

Closing the door to his office, he sat down at his desk and pulled the papers out of his jacket. Laying them down, he smoothed out their folds and read them over again, whistling softly to himself. There were not just names, there were dates and numbers, too, cold hard data that would be harder to deny. Elizabeth always did have a talent for being thorough.

Edmund looked at the blank paper still sitting in his typewriter. Earlier that day, that same piece of paper had seemed so bleak but now it almost hummed with possibilities. For a moment, Edmund’s fingers hovered above the keys as his thoughts organized themselves into sentences.

Edmund smiled and began to type.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read this fic and for all your kind words of appreciation and encouragement. <3


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